


Thor Pwns Wal-Mart: the saga of Jane Foster and Thor Odinsson OR Jane and Thor make a Porno (well, if anybody was filming it they would be)

by charis2770



Category: Marvel, Marvel Adventures: Avengers, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Canon Het Relationship, Dom Thor, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Flogging, Oh and also feels, Porn With Plot, Post-Avengers, Public Sex, Rough Sex, did i mention porn?, well kinda...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 16:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charis2770/pseuds/charis2770
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story takes place after the Avengers movie. Jane is really happy Thor's back. She's also rapidly running out of clothes. And food. And furniture. To begin with, Jane Foster finds out what happens when you take the god of Thunder shopping at Wal Mart. It rains a lot. There is a lot of sex. Everbody ends up in New York. Thor is very toppy and Jane doesn't mind one bit. A lot of limits are pushed, but not crossed. This story attempts to be true to my idea of the canon relationships as I see them in the Marvel Movieverse. Also have I mentioned that there is a ton of sex? I personally envision the Avengers as really complicated, messed up people, and that's how I tend to write them. Also, even though there's hardly ever more than kissing in super hero movies, I think after you save the world and nearly die and see your friends nearly get killed too, your blood's probably up a bit and you're gonna have needs. I love Thor's character, and I entirely disagree with his portrayal as a buffoon and an idiot. He's an alien, and he doesn't always get Earth culture, but he's a good man with very strong opinions about what he wants, nor is he afraid to take it. If you don't ship it, don't read it. Or do. You might change your mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thor Pwns Wal Mart

“C’mon Thor, get dressed,” she says, sitting on the edge of the wreck of her bed and hunting for her boots. He makes a damn fine picture, framed in the open doorway of the camper, the morning sun gilding the fine hairs of his body, limning his outline in molten gold and bronze. He shifts one arm and pushes his hair back out of his face, the other hand clutching the top of the doorframe (and he doesn’t have to reach up very far to do it, either). She admires the way the muscles in his arms and back flex as he stretches, is pretty sure she hears the doorframe creak ominously. His incredibly fine ass clenches as he lifts himself up on his toes, completing the stretch, and looks back over his shoulder at her. His eyes catch some wayward sunbeam as he turns and they flash, electric blue and hot as a live wire. For about half a minute she really seriously contemplates forgetting this idea and just keeping him naked like that for the rest of her life. Fuck, but he’s magnificent. He grins at her, and it manages to be both exuberantly, charmingly boyish AND feral at the same time. How does he do that? Her insides clench and his nostrils flare slightly. She thinks it likely that he can actually smell how turned on he makes her, even from 8 or 9 feet away and with the hot baked scent of New Mexico sand coming in through the open doorway.

                “Why should I don my clothing, Jane Foster,” he purrs, moving towards her across the shattered remnants of her dinette set without stumbling, his body flowing lazy and boneless like a great hunting cat, his gaze intent upon hers.  God, that fucking smile. “When I would only have to remove it again? I find that you yourself are entirely too clothed for my liking…”

                “Oh god Thor, _again?_ ” she asks breathlessly.

                They haven’t left the camper for 3 days. This time she scrambles to shuck the jeans and t-shirt she just put on, as the state of her wardrobe is one of the issues they’ll be dealing with later. She can’t afford to lose any more clothing, no matter how much it thrills her to her toes when he rips it off her, as she’s sure he’s prepared to do now. She’s not quite fast enough with the underwear, but it’s hard to mourn their loss as he shreds her panties, shoves her backwards on the bed, and fastens his mouth between her legs like he’s starving and she’s an all-you-can-eat buffet. She whimpers and fists her hands in his hair. He’s been…very thorough…and she’s so sore. Everywhere, but especially inside where he’s fucked her so hard and so raw it feels like she’s been bludgeoned. Which, she thinks, she really has. He growls softly against her clit when she tries to tug his head away, and his _teeth_! And she’s gone, coming so hard it _hurts_ and she just doesn’t care. Then he’s in her, and she’s sobbing for him, and it aches like hell but her pussy grasps him like she’ll die without him in her. 

                “Am I hurting you, Jane?” he whispers, his fingers gentle on her face, his lips tender on her throat, so soft. Her breath hitches.

                “Yes,” she whimpers. He lifts a hand, a finger brushing a tear from her cheek, and he puts it to his mouth and licks it from his fingertip, tasting her lust and pain. His mouth quirks in a wicked smile.

                “Good,” he says, and powers into her like a jackhammer and she’s screaming his name and struggling, she can’t help it, though she can’t tell if she’s struggling to get away or to get him deeper into her. Does it matter? She was shocked to discover this about herself, a brilliant and independent astrophysicist, a modern woman who had been standing on her own two feet for years now, who had defied the laws of the universe to find a way to bring him back to her, who believed firmly in gender equality….That she melted into a puddle of helpless lust when he ravished her, that her traitorous little heart beat faster when he took instead of asking, that she could come and cry at the same fucking time, that being brutalized by him _just flat did it for her._

It’s a lot later than she intended when they finally do hit the road.

                “Where are we going, Jane?” he asks, munching on what she’s pretty sure is the last of the dozen boxes of pop tarts she had stocked up in hopes of his return. The family sized boxes. She can tell he doesn’t really care where they’re going. She loves this about him, that he’s so clearly happy to just be here, that he’s up for absolutely anything, that there doesn’t seem to be anything he’d refuse her. She wonders briefly if it would charge her up as much to tie him to her bed and use her mouth and her teeth and her nails on him until he just shattered for her, because she’s pretty sure he’d let her and that he’d love it just as much as he loves every damn thing they do. She thinks it would, and her breath hisses between her teeth when abused parts of her clench in anticipation.

                “We’re going to Wal-Mart,” she says, shutting that train of thought down firmly for another time.

                “What is a wall mart?” he asks curiously, licking crumbs off his fingers. She’s momentarily distracted by his tongue and drives off the road into the scrub, then overcorrects and they careen off the other side too. He laughs, and she blushes. Funny that she can still do that, when he’s seen every part of her body and tasted most of it, when he’s stripped her soul bare to his gaze and never once made her feel ashamed.

                “It’s a store. A big one.”

                He frowns a little bit, thinking about this. He knows what a store is, they bought him clothes at one on his first visit, after he ruined the old ones of Donald’s in the mud at the hammer site.

                “What need have we of a store that sells walls?” he asks finally. She tries not to laugh.

                “It doesn’t sell walls,” she says gently when he glares at her. “It sells….well, a little bit of everything, and since that’s kind of what we need, that’s where we’re going.”

                “I do not understand why a place of business would claim to sell walls if they did no such thing. That is misleading and not very helpful. Does the store which indeed sells walls call itself…” He’s trying to think of an earth term, and he’s so damn cute that she grins like a loon. His face clears and he beams triumphantly, having supplied himself with a word he likes. “…Coffee Mart?” So she explains to him who Sam Walton was and how the word is really spelled and he’s satisfied.

                “Of what do you have need at this Wal-Mart?” he asks.

                “Oh let’s see. We’re completely out of food. That was the last pop tart…”

                “Yes!” he bellows enthusiastically. “We must have MORE pop tarts. They please me!” Jane resolves to buy every damn pop tart in New Mexico if he wants them.

                “We both need clothes. You sort of didn’t come with many, and I don’t think you want to run around in that magic armor all the time, it makes people nervous.”

                “Ah. Yes, I see. I should endeavor  to blend with the denizens of Midgard while I am here. But you have clothing, Jane. I have seen you in many different types of garments.”

                “I *had* clothing, Thor. Most of it has been torn to shreds. By YOU.”

                “Then you should learn to stop donning it if you do not wish me to remove it from you with relish. The garments of your world show shoddy workmanship. Your tailors should be flogged!”

                She’s momentarily transported by the “with relish” comment but manages to snap out of it.

                “We don’t flog people anymore, Thor,” she says patiently.

                “Why not? It is most effective. You should try it.”

                Where the hell does he come up with this shit? Is he doing it on purpose? Her foot eases off the accelerator so she doesn’t drive off the road again and he looks at her sharply. She blushes again and stares determinedly at the road. A male sound she’s coming to associate with possessive satisfaction and interest rumbles in his chest. She is NOT going to look at him.

                “Does Wal-Mart sell scourges?” he asks, and his voice has gone to dark, dangerous and fucking hot.

                “Wh…what the hell does that mean?” she asks, cursing mentally at the squeak in her voice.

                “Tis a whip. A wooden handle covered with braided leather, from which descend a number of leather lashes. For flogging. Some of them have bits of metal braided into the lashes. We would not need one such as that,” he says earnestly.

                “Of course not,” she whispers faintly.

                “We shall procure one,” he decides firmly. “Do not be afraid. I shall use it only to bring a blush of heat to your flesh, my Jane. When used skillfully, the kiss of the lash can heighten one’s sensations beyond belief. You will see.” How the hell is she even supposed to respond when he says shit like that?

                “Ah…and….are you?” she manages weakly.

                “Am I what?”

                “S…skilled?”

                “Very.”

                Of course he is. Abso-fucking-lutely he is. She concentrates on driving and desperately steers the topic back to shopping for things that don’t make her want to stop the camper and just BITE him.

                “I have to buy some new sheets. You ripped my last set last night. Or this morning. Whatever.” This is a safer topic? Way to go Jane. “Uh…and we have to buy a new dinette set too…” Well screw it. Everything they’re going to Wal Mart to buy is tied to fucking him. Being fucked by him.  Except the food. Oh…nevermind. She remembers that thing with the honey and the chocolate syrup and now the fucking groceries are sexy too.

                “I am sorry, Jane,” he says, and there is real remorse in his voice. “I have damaged your posessions in my enthusiasm and my hunger for you. There is no honor in that. I will try to control myself.  And I will repay you.”

                “NO!” she yells fiercely at him, and he’s startled. “I love who you are, exactly the way you are. Thor…it was like I was sleeping my way through my life until you crashed into it and woke me up. I don’t care if it trashes the entire camper, I don’t want you to change a thing!” she’s passionately furious at the thought of him trying to conform himself to the boring rules of her world. She doesn’t care if she has to replace everything she owns twice a week. This thing they’re doing, what they are together, it’s like waking up on Christmas every day. It’s like coming alive when you didn’t even know you’d been dead before. She’d rather live in a box under a bridge than lose this, lose him just the way he is.

                His smile is male satisfaction and a little bit smug, and she smacks his arm and they both laugh, and it’s ok, he’s not going to change. She doesn’t think he really could anyway. He’s just so honest with it, everything about him an open book, even the dark parts. She notices he’s spinning a coin of some kind in his fingers, a big one, bigger than a silver dollar and twice as thick. It’s gold, and she’s certain it’s real.

                “Very well Jane Foster,” he says. “I will continue to wreak whatever destruction I desire, but I *will* recompense you for the damages. Will this do? I have more.” She can’t even imagine what a gold coin that size is worth. It’s really pure too, she realizes, as she notices that the strength in his fingers warps it a little, it’s so soft. Thousands? Probably.

                “I have money Thor,” she says. “You don’t have to pay me.”

                “Do not make it sound as though you are some kept doxy, Jane. Do not.” His voice is dangerous now. “You are the moon and stars to me, the very breath in my body. That I would offer to help replace what I destroy is only my honor speaking. Do not belittle it.”

                “I don’t. I mean, I’m not. I just mean, you’re my guest. And I don’t need your money. I can afford stuff. SHIELD pays me pretty well now.” At the look on his face she rushes on. “But thank you. Really. I….it’s probably more than enough.”

                She has a bad moment when they pull into the Walmart parking lot, seeing all the cars, but she reminds herself he’s been in *New York City* for heaven’s sake, even if he was pretty preoccupied with battling Chitauri invaders to the death at the time. This isn’t going to intimidate him. Oh hell, who is she kidding, nothing intimidates him. She bets there’s not even a word for it in his language. If he has one. She’s only ever heard him speak hers.

                He follows her obediently enough through the parking lot, but as soon as she enters the first set of doors into the shopping cart area, she quickly realizes he’s not behind her anymore. She looks over her shoulder to find him standing transfixed in the doorway, taking short steps back and forth to make the doors open and close, peering around him with an expression that manages to be amazed and suspicious at the same time. Laughing, she goes and takes his arm, pulling him into the store with her.

                “What sorcery is this?” he demands, looking over his shoulder at the doors as they slide soundlessly open and closed for other customers.

                “They’re just automatic doors honey,” she says under her breath. “It’s no big deal.”

                “No big deal?” He shakes her hand off his arms and points accusingly at the offending glass. “Hundreds died, almost including the Captain of America and Man of Iron, and this….this….Mart of Walls employs such wizards that they can waste power on something so trivial as bespelled entrance halls? Where were their magics when the Chitauri invaded this realm? I demand to speak to the proprietor of this place. I will tell him what I think of his selfishness!”

                The greeter, a tiny retired grandmotherly woman who looks ninety if she’s a day, peers nearsightedly at them through coke-bottle glasses.

                “We…welcome to Walmart,”she quavers in a creaky voice, and smiles at them, clearly a little confused. Thor cuts himself off in his rant and looks down at her. His face clears and he takes one of her papery, spidery hands in his huge paw, and places a gentle kiss on the liver-spotted skin.

                “Forgive my manners, little mother,” he says grandly. “I thank you for your hospitality, you are most gracious! Allfather’s blessings upon you and your family. Where, pray tell, may I find the proprietor of this establishment?”

                “Oh my,” says the little old lady, fanning herself faintly with her free hand and gazing at the god of thunder in fascination.

                “Thor,” hisses Jane, jerking on his arm again. “Stop flustering the nice lady and let’s GO.”

                “Did you want me to call a manager?” asks the flustered greeter as she tugs him after her into the store. Jane smiles cheerfully over her shoulder.

                “No thank you, we’re fine! Have a nice day!” She smacks Thor on the arm again when she feels him drawing in his breath to respond. “Shut. Up.” She hisses under her breath. “The doors are not magic. They are just electricity. With an infrared sensor. Maybe pressure plates. No magic!”

                He grunts doubtfully at this but his attention is quickly riveted by a young man in a Walmart smock who is taking inventory of some shelves of summer picnic supplies.

                “Excuse me, my good shopkeeper!” Thor booms heartily, planting himself in front of the guy and smiling infectiously. The kid, who can’t be more than twenty, and has streaks of red and orange in his bleached hair, stares at Thor a little apprehensively.

                “How can I help you sir?” he asks politely, setting down his barcode scanner and smiling gamely back.

                “We have need of a quality scourge. Direct me to the correct sector of this Mart of Walls at once!”

                “A what now?” the clerk asks in confusion. Jane is too momentarily stunned to stop this particular train wreck from happening.

                “A scourge, man. A flogger. A whip. You know, for the disciplining of one’s….” he cuts those wicked blue eyes at Jane. “…ahem.”

                The poor kid goggles at him and Jane’s mind races for something to say that will make this not sound like loony-bin time.

                “I…ah…don’t think we have any of those, Sir. Maybe at Halloween time…”

                “It’s okay,” Jane says brightly. “He’s only kidding!” and she grabs Thor by the ear before he can say another word and yanks. Hard. He stifles a yelp and the look he gives her promises dire retribution. This look does nothing whatsoever to help the state of her jeans, because she left her last clean pair of panties in pieces on the floor of the camper.

                “What was the meaning of that, woman?” he growls, rubbing his ear.

                “You can’t buy whips at Walmart. You were confusing that poor kid. You can’t just SAY things like that to people.”

                “Why not?”

                “Because it freaks them out!”

                “Are you ashamed of what I do to you, Jane Foster?” he purrs silkily.

                “Of course not! It’s just….nobody else’s business, that’s all. Especially Walmart employees!”

                He grunts, but seems to accept her answer.

                She grabs a shopping cart and steers them towards the grocery section, thinking that’s got to be safer. Thor likes to eat. That should distract him from all this disturbing talk of floggers. She’s right. The grocery section fascinates him. He gives the produce section only a passing glance, as nothing there seems very different from some of the foods he has back home. An apple is an apple, right? But it’s patently obvious there’s no such thing as prepackaged….well….anything, on Asgard, because they don’t even make it down the first aisle before he’s stopped dead in front of the cart holding a package of cookies and shaking it in her face.

                “What is the meaning of this?” he demands. Horror and outrage are etched on his features. Jane looks closer at the package and wracks her brain to decipher what about it is bothering him so. He’s mortally offended by processed sugar and preservatives?

                “Uh…what do you mean?” she asks cautiously.

                “Twice now I have risked  my life to save your people, and thought it would be well-spent were I to die in the risking! How then, can you stand here with me and tell me under whose laws is it acceptable to commit such atrocity?”

                “Um,” she says faintly. They REALLY have a problem with preservatives?

                “What kind of monsters package and consume their children!?!” he yells in fury and despair. Jane goggles at him, speechless.  Then she takes a closer look at the package. On the front of it are two smiling, blond haired children playing hopscotch.  Aha. She finally has to tear open the package and shove a cookie in his mouth to get him to believe her. The reaction is worth a look or two. For a few seconds, he’s gagging in horror and trying to get the cookie out of his mouth while she claps her hand over his lips and struggles gamely to hold on. He freezes. His jaws move once, meditatively. His eyebrows slowly go up and he chews again. She can tell when he registers the chocolate chips by the way his eyelids flutter closed for just a second. Then she’s grasping air as he slaps the package of cookies out of her hand and single-mindedly devours the entire package, his other hand  emptying the shelf of the rest of the boxes into their cart. She reflects that they’re going to need another cart sooner than she thought. In fact, this one only makes it through the second aisle and while she can’t imagine that much junk food could possibly be good for him….well, look at him. He can have all the ding dongs he wants. She’s damn sure not going to stop him. She’s remembering the chocolate syrup and the effect cocoa beans in any form seem to have on him. Yay chocolate!

                However, recognizing that their track record up until today is going to require some protein if she’s going to keep up, she parks him in front of the meat counter with the full cart and orders him to stay while she goes to get an empty one.

                “Thor, I mean it. Wait RIGHT HERE, okay?” she says, backing away from him and doing her best to look stern. He waves her away absently with one hand while tearing singlemindedly into a package of gummy bears and laughing when the fistful he pulls out feel squishy in his hand. Good, he’s pretty well occupied.

                She hurries anyway, not liking to leave him alone very long. He’s kind of like a kid with ADHD when it comes to earth culture and stuff. She’s waylaid by a man asking if she knows where the feminine products are, and he looks so embarrassed that she can’t help feeling sorry for him, so she shows him where to go. Clearly his wife or girlfriend has sent him and he has no clue what he’s doing. He gets kudos for being willing to try though! She’s laughing to herself when she wheels the new cart back towards where she left Thor. Where. She. Left…..Thor.

                Oh god.  Someone is screaming. She starts to run, nearly bowling a family of four over in her haste. She skids to a halt in front of the meat section where she left him. The cart is still there, undisturbed. She looks around wildly in a panic, because she doesn’t see him. Then her brain registers where the screaming is coming from and she looks PAST the meat counter to the butcher shop area behind it. One terrorized girl has her back pressed up against a stainless steel meat locker, screaming like a bad horror movie. Another employee, in a blood-stained apron and white hair net, waves his hands and shouts ineffectually. Standing at a huge counter, wielding an enormous cleaver with gleeful abandon, is her boyfriend, the thunder god, loudly explaining to the butcher shop staff how one must put ones SHOULDER (thwack) INTO (crunch) THE (crack) JOINT (splat) when butchering oxen.  She screams at him and he freezes in midswing to look at her. There are tiny flecks of cow blood and bone on his face and in his hair.

                “Hello Jane Foster!” he cries happily, thwacking the cleaver down into the hunk of meat in front of him once more. “I am showing my new friends how we butcher oxen in Asgard!”

                “Thor,” she hisses through her teeth, looking around wildly to see if anyone has called security yet. “Get. Out. Of. There.”

                “Jane…”

                “NOW!”

                He rolls his eyes at the butcher, in one of those “what’re you gonna do” kinds of looks guys have been sharing for centuries, but the butcher just stares at him, and makes a small alarmed noise in the back of his throat when Thor grasps his forearm and pumps it enthusiastically, thanking him for his time. Then he puts one hand on the top of the meat counter and vaults over it like it’s about as tall as a sidewalk curb. She can’t even be mad at him because oh my god, who _does_ that kind of stuff? Even with blood in his hair he’s just fucking gorgeous. She remembers his face as she knelt above him, not being able to breathe because the deathly stillness in his features was _killing_ her, only it was his blood on his face then, the day he died to save her. So beautiful, so peaceful, the tiny smile he’d had for her at the end still lingering, his last words “It is all right now” hollow in her ears because it was NOT all right, nothing could ever be all right again. Not with him lying there, his blood on his face, broken, gone.

                Suddenly she doesn’t give a shit if he wants to hack up raw meat for fun and the stupid Walmart butcher can just go hang. Thor can have all the dead oxen he wants and she’s damned if she’lll make him feel bad about it. She takes his hand and smiles at him, and he looks confused for a second but then he smiles gamely back at her, probably just chalking it up to weird earth customs and her being female. They take the carts and manage to get through the grocery section without further incident. Well, there’s that one little thing with the coffee aisle and her trying to convince him that it really isn’t something you can eat out of the bag like the cookies. She has a feeling Thor hopped up on that much caffeine might be more than she could handle in one day. Or ever.

                Choosing sheets with Thor is both easier and more embarrassing than the grocery section, because he wants the red ones. She tries to explain to him that red sheets stain everything you wash them with a nice bright pink color and that lighter colors are easier to get clean. There are two middle-aged women next to them in the aisle, and from their conversation, she can tell they’re using church funds to purchase linens for some kind of outreach program. They smile at the young couple but don’t pay much attention, discussing how many beds are in the shelter and how much is in the budget and whether they should just go with the sheets or try to pick up some towels too. Jane mostly ignores them too, arguing goodnaturedly with Thor over the sheets. Then he leans in and stops her words with a kiss.

                “Jane, “ he says, raising his voice over her protests. “When I bring you to your completion and you scream your pleasure to the stars, your fingernails are like small knives In my flesh and I feel that red bedding would be a better choice as I know from long experience that it is simply impossible to truly get bloodstains out of white sheets!”

                The silence from the church ladies is like thunder in her ears. She’s sure she turns an interesting shade of puce, grabs two extra sets of the red sheets, and flees the aisle in mortification. He follows her, demanding in what is most definitely NOT his inside voice,

                “What is the problem? Surely you must admit that you are a hellkitten when I bring you pleasure. I don’t _mind_ , Jane. You cannot truly hurt me. See here? The scratches are already healed!”

                Oh for the sake of all that is holy, he is pulling up his shirt to show her his back, and all that ripped expanse of abs and the long clean line of his spine framed by muscles too perfect to even be real. I mean, the man looks fucking _airbrushed_ but she knows he’s not, that every inch of that warm golden skin is packed with power so heady it makes her head spin that he’s hers. She walks to him on legs that only tremble a little bit and tugs at the hem of his t-shirt, trying to pull it down because a lot of people are staring. And really, who wouldn’t? But if he doesn’t cover himself up and she means right NOW, she’s just going to take a bite out of some part of him right fucking here and damn the consequenses. He looks in her eyes when she’s close to him, tugging at his clothes, and his fathomless blue eyes are concerned, upset that he has offended or embarrassed her yet again, but when he sees the expression on her face, his concern melts to male satisfaction and he lets go of his shirt and one strong arm goes around her waist and pulls her to him and it’s like WHAM, when their bodies touch, a circuit being completed, and her blood hums in her veins when he leans down and kisses her. And who the _hell_ would have ever thought that an ancient Norse god would be such a good kisser, she just wants to know. If she’d been asked, before him, she’d have guessed the god of thunder would kiss like a jock, all hard thrusting tongue filling her mouth and lips devouring, and a little sloppy. But no.  He kisses like….well, like a girl, kind of. Soft brushes of lips, teasing tongue flicks, little nips at her bottom lip, a quick suck on her tongue like she’s candy, his breath warm in her mouth. She makes an inarticulate sound and he steps back with a wicked grin. She stumbles a little as they head for the furniture section. She’s pretty sure she hears applause as they walk away, but the buzzing in her ears is too loud for her to be sure.

                Choosing a dinette set with Thor is an adventure in and of itself. There are six of the right size for her camper, little two-seaters that will fit in her tiny breakfast nook. Thor has to try them all before he approves one. To people…normal, sane people, trying out a dinette set involves actually _sitting_ at them. This thought is almost plaintive in her brain as he picks her up and sets her down on top of the first table, forcing her knees apart to nestle himself between them. She stifles a shriek of surprise. He frowns a bit and does a little hip roll that makes her drool, but he lifts her off the table and moves to the next one.

                “Too short,” he says briefly in explanation. Of course. The next table is too tall, and the one after it is again too short. The fourth table is an unfortunate shade of mustard and he bypasses it altogether, which is just as well. The fifth table is just fucking right, of sturdy butcher block construction, and when he settles himself between her thighs she feels the ridge of his erection pressing directly against her center when he snugs up against her, and it’s like licking a nine volt battery or biting tin foil. Current sings though her body but at the same time it hurts like a bruise, and she whimpers. His eyes darken and something flickers in them, something that looks like flashes of distant heat lightning. He smiles in satisfaction.

                “This one, I think,” he says in a voice gone just a little rough around the edges. She nods wordlessly and he lifts her effortlessly. His head turns to the last dinette set. “But we should try the last one too. To be certain. And fair,” he says virtuously. She can only agree helplessly.

                This turns out to be an unfortunate choice, as the sixth table’s performance is as lackluster as her own late and unlamented table. It crashes apart with a loud crack and she is saved from falling on her ass only by the reflexes of a god, who snatches her off the collapsing piece of furniture in the nick of time, glaring at the offending piece while two alarmed Walmart employees come running. She has to do a little fast talking to get them out of this one, but at last they escape, claim ticket for the sturdy new table and chairs clutched in her hand and her face flaming with chagrin.

                She already knows his size (boy does she) from buying clothes for him on his first visit, so all she really has to do is toss a few pairs of jeans,  and some packs of Hanes t-shirts into the cart. She picks royal blue because she knows they will make his eyes look like gleaming pools of Caribbean sea water, and purple because she’s seen them glow like electric amethyst in the darkness while he rises above her, and white because it looks so good against the golden heat of his skin. He doesn’t really pay attention at this point, he doesn’t care what she chooses, so she tosses in a couple of packs of socks and calls it done. He flatly refuses to wear underwear, calling it restrictive and pointless. She’s ok with that. When he thumbs open the top button of his jeans with  his eyes boring into her like gleaming shards, she’s not disappointed that it will take him a few seconds less to be in her, deep and hard and hers. Only, you know, later. As in, not right here in the men’s clothing aisle of Wally World. He finds a pair of work boots he approves of, and spends a few minutes clomping around in them in satisfaction while she laughs, ignoring the consternation of the shoe department girl who is eyeing all the discarded pairs of boots glumly. Jane doesn’t care.

                When it comes to replacing her own clothes though, she’s not as sure. She hasn’t shopped for them in a long time, and she’s pretty sure she lost some weight, all those nights spent staring at the stars, all those days buried in her lab with her nose in her calculations, going over and over and trying to find that one missing piece that would bring him back to her. She grabs several packs of comfortable cotton panties and sports bras. Thor doesn’t really care about underwear. He doesn’t pause long enough to appreciate it. Disposable is probably better. She thinks about this and then tosses in another couple of packs. He finds the pictures on the front of the packs of panties very interesting. She leaves him absorbed in this wonder for just long enough to snatch a half dozen pairs of jeans off the racks and a few t-shirts and blouses, then tows him and all of the pile towards the dressing rooms. She doesn’t really want to take the time, but she’s just not sure exactly what size she needs now, so she’d better make sure. She takes the clothes in her arms and begs him earnestly to just stand still, right here, and not move at all, until she is done. She promises to be quick. He smiles good-naturedly and agrees. She hurries into the dressing room, thankful that there’s no attendant on duty, and shimmies out of her pants. Then she remembers that she’s not wearing any underwear. She just finds it a little squicky to try on pants other people may have tried on too, when her parts are unprotected. She sighs and picks her pants up off the floor to put them back on. Then she pauses. There’s no one in the dressing room, and no sign of an attendant.

                “Thor,” she hisses in a loud whisper. There is no answer. “Thor?” she repeats, still in a loud stage whisper. When he still doesn’t say anything, she starts to panic a little and cracks the dressing room door open a tiny bit to peer out at him. She utters a small shriek of surprise when the door knob is wrenched from her hand and she finds herself nose to…pecs…with a broad expanse of male chest.  She thinks inanely that it’s a good thing he’s so damn broad, or she’d be flashing her biscuits at anybody who happens to be walking by.

                “Yes Jane?” he asks, simply not budging while she tries in vain to slam the door in his face.

                “What are you DOING? Get OUT of here!” she squeaks, peering past his impossibly muscular arm at the women’s clothing section behind him.

                “Did you not call for me?” he asks in confusion.

                “NO! I mean….yes….I mean, wait!” he has already started to stomp back to the unattended cart, shaking his head and muttering, and turns back to her when she says this. A few steps of distance between them and he’s able to look her up and down, slowly, and his scowl slowly transforms into a smile, while his eyes take on a glint of appreciation. “I need one of those packs of underwear,” she whispers furiously. He raises one eyebrow as he gazes at the distinctly naked lower section of her person, and she gestures urgently at the cart. He chuckles and reaches into grab one of the plastic packages. She gestures at him to just toss it to her, but he ignores this and in a couple of long strides he’s in front of her again, and when she tries to take the package from him, his hand just fists around it and she might as well be trying to pluck at a block of iron.

                “I need those,” she whispers at him in frustration. “I have to try on these jeans!”

                And oh god what is he doing? He uses his body to crowd her backwards into the dressing room and follows her, closing the door behind him with a click that is somehow ominous. She’s babbling something about how he can’t be in here and they’re gonna get in trouble, but then he’s kissing her again. Only this time there’s nothing teasing about it. This time he takes her mouth like he’s staking a claim, like he’s going to devour her. It’s all hot bruising lips and teeth and he’s sucking on her tongue like he does on her clit and her knees are shaking. One of his hands is fisted tight in her hair, holding her head still, just where he wants it, and the other skims down her body, over her hip and a finger slides between her legs. She makes a noise into his mouth that is a lot more pleading than protest when the pad of his finger brushes her clit. It circles lightly for a few seconds, then abruptly stabs deep into her sopping pussy and she whines into his mouth when her abused muscles rearrange themselves around his finger. He drags his mouth off hers and presses her head against his chest, tilting it a little to the side so he can bend his face close to her ear to whisper.

                “I can feel how swollen you are inside, Jane…” he purrs, his breath warm on the shell of her ear, the sound trickling into her brain like warm caramel. “Have I used you one too many times? Would another coupling cause you real pain?”

                “I…I’m afraid so,” she gasps, because though his finger makes her sore insides ache, it still sends zings of crippling lust pumping through her body. He makes a humming sound in the back of his throat that doesn’t sound very sorry.

                “Jane. I’m so hard for you I feel I shall burst if I do not have you again soon,” he goes on, and she’s peripherally aware that they’re in the DRESSING ROOM at Walmart, but she can’t make herself care. “And so, when we return to your lab…Jane, I will have you.” She scrabbles to yank up his shirt because she _has_ to have his skin, and buries her face in his chest and whines. He keeps on. “But I would rather die than harm you, my heart. Shall I confess it fires my blood when you weep for me? Oh yes. Jane, perhaps it makes me a monster, but oh…I do love _hurting_ you.”

                She shakes her head as much as she’s able with him holding it captive. He’s not a monster. A beast, oh yes, but never a monster. He has to know she loves it too. But still, the thought of taking him inside her again this soon does make her quail a bit. She doesn’t think she can, she really doesn’t.

                “ I do know the difference betwixt hurt and harm, and I fear to take you as I have thus far would indeed cause you harm. But as I _will_ have you..” his finger twists a little and her body jerks against him. “I shall have you  in a new way.” She’s momentarily confused, because she _has_ sucked him off already, though it wasn’t easy, he’s just a little big for comfortable oral sex, though he wasn’t complaining at the time. What does he…..

                Oh. Oh no.

                His finger withdraws slowly from her dripping cunt and slides backwards between the cheeks of her ass where it lightly circles the tiny crinkle of her asshole. She shakes her head in negation, fighting his fist in her hair. Nonononono!

                “Yes,” he hisses, and his finger spears into her asshole with one vicious stab. She squeals into the hard muscles of his chest and sinks her teeth in, muffling the noise she’s making. It doesn’t hurt, precisely, but it does feel strange, and very vulnerable. He withdraws a bit and then thrusts it in again and her hips jerk against him. Ok, this is actually really fucking hot but then she thinks about the _size_ of him.

                “It won’t fit,” she whispers in a tiny, scared voice. He’s chuckling, she can feel his chest shake with it, and he removes his finger and goes back her her swollen clit, which throbs as he strokes it, and she goes back to biting him, whimpering helplessly.

                “It will,” he assures her. His voice is rough with need. “But Jane? You’ll scream. When it burns, when it makes you feel as though you’ll be torn asunder, you’ll scream, Jane. And I won’t stop. I’ll never harm you, but I’ll have you, any way I wish. You’re mine, Jane Foster.  And when we have returned from this place….my love….my heart….” His finger presses and swirls and strokes and her breath is hitching in her chest while she muffles her helpless wanton mewling in the hard muscle of his chest. “…I’m going to fuck you. In your tight little ass.” God, he’s never said that word before. His command of English is quite good, but his speech is so courtly, so formal, and slang mostly just escapes him. Of course, he’s been listening to her spout incoherent filth at him for several days now. But the obscenity, whispered soft in her ear, just _wrecks_ her, and she shatters, her hands clutching helplessly at his arms, her cries (she hopes) swallowed by  his chest. He holds her close while she shudders, and the fist in her hair loosens, to stroke her head gently.  He lowers her to the bench behind her where she sits for a new minutes, gasping. He’s smiling down at her and the look on his face is possession, and need, and not entirely sane, but behind it there is still love. And while what he’s promised scares the hell out of her, she could never really be afraid of _him_. When the blood stops beating in her brain so hard she can’t see, she focuses on him and realizes that sitting here in front of him like this, she’s just exactly at eye level with his groin. And he has a definite problem. It looks as though he’s GOT to be having circulation issues, because she can’t figure out how there’s even ROOM in his jeans for a hard on like this. She leans forward and presses her mouth to the rough denim, breathing out so her warm breath filters through the fabric. His body stiffens. She looks up at him and smiles. Oh, turnabout is SO fair play.

                She reaches for the waistband of his pants and tugs him towards her a little. He takes half a step, until he’s within easy reach. She pops the button of his fly loose and slides the zipper down slowly, one tooth at a time, while he makes a growling noise she can feel in her bones. When his cock springs free of the confining denim, it is rock hard, quivering with mindless need, leaking at the tip and oh he’s just so yummy. She darts out her tongue to lick at the bead of moisture on the head. He sucks in a breath and throws his head back. She takes him into her mouth, sucking hard, and presses her teeth slowly into the shaft. She’s learned he likes this, likes pain, and it’s a heady feeling to hold him helpless like this, just a hairsbreadth away from unmanning him, and have him shudder and gasp for her. As much as she’d like to, she cannot take all of him down her throat. He’s just too big. So she uses her lips and mouth and tongue and teeth, while her hand wraps tightly around his shaft and she jerks him off. She isn’t gentle. He doesn’t need that, and he likes it rough. She rolls her eyes up and watches him, watches his face while she shreds his control. He’s leaning forward a little, his arms braced on the flimsy walls of the dressing room, head dropped forward as he pants heavily. His gaze is intent on her face, blue eyes wide and wild and mindless with need. The muscles in his belly quiver, his thighs braced as far apart as the confines of his jeans around his ass will allow. Ragged gasps shake him, and his hips roll forward urgently. It doesn’t take long, because what he’s done to her has him so so ready, and after only a few minutes his body falters and his breath hitches in his chest and his cock twitches in her hand and she swallows him down, his seed in her mouth hot and salty. He groans deeply through clenched teeth and one hand comes down to rest on her head, trembling, but just resting there, not grasping or forcing her, just letting her devour and destroy him. She giggles a little when she finishes, pulling back to let him tuck himself back into his pants.  He grins weakly at her and they both stagger drunkenly against the prefab walls as he helps her to her feet, and they walls heave and buckle alarmingly.

                Suddenly she becomes aware of someone banging on the dressing room door. A voice is calling.

                “Ma’am? Sir? You need to open this door right now and come out of that dressing room! The police have been called! Come out now, and keep your hands where I can see them! Sir? Ma’am! Open the door!”

                She stares at him wildly in panic, and starts to scramble into some pants. She doesn’t even stop to see if they’re hers, or one of the pairs she brought in to try on, because he’s already reaching for the door knob, and he’s laughing. She’s mortified, but she’s laughing too, as the pounding grows more insistent. She’s barely decent when he sweeps open the door and steps out with his arms wide.

                “My friends,” he says grandly.

                Friends? As in plural? She peeks around him and squeaks in dismay. There are at least 20 people outside the dressing room, from security guards to store management and employees, to curious shoppers who are craning to get a look at what’s going on. She covers her face with her hands and wishes she could sink through the floor, but at the same time she can’t stop the giggles because he’s just so damned magnificent that she doesn’t _care_.

                “I am sorry for the disturbance, friend,” he goes on, addressing the slightly overweight security guard who was banging on the door. “We shall be glad to make reparations. Please, forgive me.”

                His smile is so open and friendly that she can’t imagine how anybody could resist him. But resist him the guard does, grabbing his arm and yanking him out of the fitting room area. Or, tries to. Nobody yanks Thor anywhere he doesn’t want to go. The guard might as well be tugging against a brick wall, for as far as he’s able to force Thor. Oh god, she thinks wildly, don’t TOUCH him. Thor likes certain kinds of touch. A lot. But he doesn’t like strangers grabbing him. He looks down at the hand on his arm and she sees his muscles flex. He looks slowly back up at the security guard, and she thinks that look is surely enough to make ANYBODY let go and step back.

                “Unhand me sir,” says Thor slowly and carefully, biting off each word. The security guard is either blind or stupid, because instead of heeding this polite warning, he tightens his fingers and yanks again. Jane makes sure she’s well behind Thor, and starts looking up apprehensively. Thor’s free arm shoots up in the air. She drops to the floor and covers her head with her arms. There is a distant sound of shrieking metal and a crunch, and Mjolnir drops into his open palm with a sturdy smack. Bits of ceiling tiles and insulation plop to the floor a few seconds later. Mjolnir falls faster than plaster, Jane thinks inanely, and collapses in helpless giggles at the stupid rhyme. Thor’s hair is blowing around him like its being tossed in a storm. There’s a rumble from above. His eyes flash at the guard, who hangs on stubbornly.

                “I SAID,” roars the god of thunder. “UNHAND ME, MORTAL!”

                A drop of water plops onto Jane’s face, then another. It’s _raining_ in Walmart. There’s a blinding flash and people shriek in terror, then the store goes dark.

********

 

                He’s sitting at his desk, like an admiral at the helm of a ship. A gleaming black helm surrounded by glowing holographic screens, and his busy hands reach out to them all, tapping, expanding and collapsing images, manipulating, tossing, rearranging. It’s almost like a dance, and it’s one he knows very well. He’s intent on his task, and doesn’t take notice when one of the monitors flickers and a sound chimes. He’s deep in his work, because though the tesseract is gone, he’s _driven_ to understand how it worked, and he’s pretty sure they haven’t seen the last of the Chitauri. He’s damned if they’ll take him by surprise again. JARVIS clears his throat insistently and says, invisibly, “Captain Rogers to see you sir.”

                “I’m busy,” growls Tony Stark, frowning at an image he’s manipulating. He’s trying to replicate how they made that portal work, and it’s pissing him off.

                “He’s quite insistent, sir. Says Director Fury sent him and that he must see you at once.”

                “Fury can suck it,” says Tony absently.

                “Great, Tell him that yourself,” says Steve, stepping off the elevator. “But for now, suit up. We’re needed.”

                Tony glances up at him and frowns.

                “JARVIS, remind me to have your programs deleted later. Slowly and painfully.”

                “Certainly sir,” says the A.I. agreeably. Tony looks up at the Captain and glares,

                “WHAT? I’m busy!” he barks

                “It’s gonna have to wait. We’re needed in New Mexico. Now.”

                Tony ponders this for a second.

                “Isn’t New Mexico where that Foster chick lives?”

                “Yes.”

                “Isn’t Goldilocks there with her? Whatever it is, let HIM handle it.” Tony flaps his hand dismissively at Steve and goes back to his screens.

                “Ah…yeah. See, Thor IS the problem, Tony. We need to hurry.”

                Tony pauses for a second and cocks his head to the side, and a slowly a grin splits his features.

                “Yeah? What’d the big guy do now? Open the bifrost in the middle of a mall or something?” He’s gotten to his feet and pads barefoot to one of the cabinets that house one of the multitude of Iron Man suits he keeps available for any occasion. Steve chokes back a laugh.

                “Um, no. It’s my understanding that there’s some kind of major disturbance happening at a big store of some kind, I think the Director said it was called Wally…something….”

                The cabinet slides open and Tony steps into the recess, and the suit slides and snicks and clicks as it encases his body. Iron Man steps out of the cabinet and turns to look at Captain America.

                “Well what do you know,” he laughs, while ordering up a jet copter to wait for them on the roof.

                “Thor pwned Wal Mart!”


	2. Jane Gets It in the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when Jane and Thor are reunited after several weeks of separation. Squick alert if anal sex bothers you, you probably shouldn't read this. Plus also, it isn't slash. Yes, heterosexual people sometimes do that too. Jane is scared, but Thor makes it okay.

She paces the lab. Or, well, what used to be her lab. Now it’s a virtually empty….what the hell did this place used to be anyway? She never thought to ask. She thinks maybe a motel office once, back in the 60’s. Now all that’s left are a few bare wires, some office supplies she doesn’t need anymore, and a couple of forlorn-looking chairs. Coulson had all her stuff packed up and carted off to….some fucking place…three days ago. Three. DAYS. She kicks one of the forlorn chairs and it keels over, rattling against the bare concrete floor. She grabs handfuls of her hair in both fists, screams in frustration, and stomps up to the roof. She sits down on one of the lawn chairs. Huffs. Looks around. Stands up and does a few laps around the rooftop. Huffs again.

“DAMMIT!”

The day Thor “pwned” Wal Mart, as Tony laughingly put it (and how the hell do you even say that anyway? Pawned? Poned? Puh-wend? Fuck) her life went up in smoke. First there’d been a lot of screaming, and a couple of small electrical fires, and a few bodies had been, well, hurled. Police had come. Then a SWAT team. All the trucks from what looked like 6 different fire and rescue squads. News crews. After some begging, she got Thor to calm down and allow himself to be handcuffed along with herself. She thought he’d only injured a couple of cops, and not badly. There was still so much chaos happening, and people yelling, and children crying, and alarms going off, and smoke….she’d started to cry somewhere in the middle of it all, but at least they were handcuffed side by side in the back of a squad car, and both doors were at least open, because she’d told the cops who they were and they hadn’t been carted off to jail. She’d laid her head on his shoulder. Well, his bicep really, since he was a lot taller than she was, and she’d just cried. He had bent his head down and kissed the top of her head and tried to be comforting. It didn’t help. It was just crazy. All she’d wanted was to continue her research, and get to have him in her life, and to be happy. Only now that he was HERE she didn’t even know what she was supposed to BE researching anymore. And he tried, oh he really did, but her world was just too small for him. Staties and town cops and firemen argued about what to do with them. She cried harder. The FBI showed up and she cried even harder. Thor whispered words of encouragement and glared at everyone outside the car and then got fed up and snapped his handcuffs and dragged her onto his lap. There was some shouting, but since all he did was rock her and glare, they chose to pretend it hadn’t happened, and went back to arguing.

When the Stark jet showed up and Iron Man and Captain America got out, all the attention shifted to them. Iron Man was clever and funny, and the Captain was kind and helpful, and that made all the emergency people settle down, and get on with the business of cleaning up. The building had already been evacuated, but finally all the civilians were sent on their way and it got a little less hectic. Jane stopped crying and was introduced (unhandcuffed) to Tony and Steve. Thor hugged them both (unprotected by an almost invincible suit, Steve’s eyes bugged a little when he got his) and professed his joy at seeing them again. At last another helijet showed up and Agent Coulson got out, followed by a tall bald black man in a leather coat, wearing an eye patch. Thor had explained to her that Coulson had been killed standing up to his brother, and that it had been this sacrifice that had pulled the Avengers together to finally vanquish Loki and the Chitauri. He used words like vanquish the same way other guys used phrases like “kicked ass.” When she asked how he was alive NOW if Loki had killed him, Thor said something about earning a place in Valhalla and Odin granting his wish to be returned to continue SHIELD’s mission of justice. Resurrection. Sure, why not? Agent Coulson greeted her warmly, and introduced her to director Fury. She wondered why he seemed so pissed off. Thor could be frustrating, sure, but at least nobody had been killed. After being around him for a little while, she decided he just seemed pissed off all the time.

The gist of the entire insane mess turned out to be that everybody agreed a tiny town on the ass end of New Mexico was just not the right place for Thor. Thor adamantly refused to leave Jane. Jane adamantly refused to give up her lab. Fury glared at everyone. Coulson tried to soothe Thor’s temper as he looked nervously at the sky, where clouds were starting to gather. Jane felt like she was going to start to cry again and that pissed her off. After going around in circles about it for almost an hour, they were all irritated and upset. Tony walked up, having finished lifting pieces of Wal Mart off of some cars, and stood watching them all for a few minutes with his hands crossed over his chest. His helmet slid backwards to reveal his sardonically amused face. He stepped in front of Fury, who made a furious sound, and took Jane’s hand.

“Doctor Foster?” he asked, waving a hand at Fury, who was trying to yell at him. “You are an astrophysicist, correct?”

“Correct,” she said.

“And you created a device that enabled Goldilocks here to fire the bifrost back up, only in reverse, and come back to earth after he took Reindeer Games back to….AssGuard?”

Jane snickered.

“Yes, that’s essentially what happened.”

“That is so cool. Listen, I suddenly find myself in desperate, nay, even dire, need of an astrophysicist. In fact, I may die right here if I don’t get one. Only you can save me, Jane. Come work for me. I’ll build you a lab. Say yes. I’m pining away. Right here. See?” He staggered and fell to his knees. Thor thought this was hilarious, and Jane giggled.

“She can’t work for you, Stark,” yelled Fury. “She’s going to come work for SHIELD!”

“I’m what now?” she asked dazedly.

“Sorry dude, too late. We have a contract,” said Tony without turning a hair.

“YOU DON’T HAVE A CONTRACT!”

“Verbal agreement. Legally binding, Just ask the supreme court. I believe it was MacGruder v. Liilipudlian. Or maybe that was Stevenson v. Czernisky…anyway. Too late.”

This argument went on for a while longer, but the end result was that Thor would continue being on call for the Avengers Initiative like he’d been all along, only he’d be on call FROM the Avengers Initiative so they could…provide for his needs. This clearly meant “watch over him” but that was okay. It was probably safer for all concerned that way. And all of her stuff would be packed up (at SHIELD’s expense because Tony was slicker than Fury and stuck him holding that particular bag) and moved to New York, where she would be officially employed by Stark Industries but also officially on retainer with SHIELD whenever they needed her expertise. This apparently was going to be immediate, as they all agreed they hadn’t seen the last of the Chitauri or at least someone like them, and she was literally the only person on earth with any knowledge at all about portal technology. Since, she supposed, the bifrost was sort of a portal. Kind of. She liked New Mexico, but she loved Thor a lot more, and Tony did offer a really attractive benefits and incentives package. So it was settled. Thor flew back to New York with Coulson and Fury, promising to see her in just a couple of days. Coulson sent a truck two days later with some agents to pack up her stuff as she directed them, and they drove off for New York with her life in the back of their vehicle.

That was three days ago. She’s been patiently waiting (ok, sort of patiently. Ok. Not very patiently. FINE she’d been pacing the damn floor) since then. And nothing. She’s ready to spit nails. She hates not knowing what’s going on. She hates that she hasn’t heard from Thor. What if the aliens had returned? What if some other horrible thing had happened, and he’d gone off to help deal with it, and never returned? They could ALL have been sucked up by some kind of alien device and be held captive on an alien war ship having hideous experiments performed on them RIGHT NOW. She hates this. Fucking HATES it. Also all her tender parts have healed. She misses him. A lot. She kicks the lawn chair, which, being made of lightweight aluminum tubing and nylon, sails gracefully over the side of the roof to crash to the parking lot below.  She screams again in frustration.

A distant throbbing sound distracts her and she looks wildly towards the mountains on the horizon, craning her neck and squinting. The throbbing resolves itself into the distant WHUP WHUP WHUP of helicopter blades. She sees the gleaming black bird appear over the tops of the mountains and she whoops. About damn time. She races down the stairs and starts grabbing suitcases and duffel bags. She’s staggering under the weight of all her earthly possessions (minus the lab stuff, cause you know, already gone)  when the helijet lands on the parking lot and Coulson steps out. He laughingly helps her with her bags and apologizes for the delay. Apparently they were all summoned without warning to the Pentagon for some kind of debriefing. She’s not interested. Just fucking fly, she says, eyes already pointed East.

He tries to talk to her about her research, and what she’ll be doing, and the facilities they have available for her. She tries to pay attention, but the last time Thor flew off and promised to see her soon, he’d been gone for over a year. Her research, these new labs, the work…it isn’t going anywhere. Every day with Thor is a gift, and he could be called away by his father, or have to go halfway around the world to fight evil, at any moment. He’s branded on her soul now. She wouldn’t give up her work for him, and she loves science, and he loves how smart she was, but shit, a girl needs to get LAID. Damn. And couldn’t Coulson just shut up already?

Mercifully, the flight is short due to Stark Industries’ spiffy little flying machine. She decides she loves this bird, when she sees the New York skyline out the window. She loves Tony too. He’s her hero.  They land on the roof of SHIELD’s New York headquarters, and Coulson’s yelling in her ear that he’ll have her things delivered to her suite in Stark Tower, that it’s only a couple of miles from here, and that she can have a tour of the labs after the Director has a chance to debrief her. They’re walking to an elevator as he’s telling her this. What he’s saying registers in her brain as they board the elevator and she turns to him.

“Does Thor live here now?” she interrupts.

“Ah…yes, he does.”

“What floor are his rooms on?”

“Well….23….but Director Fury has ordered that you be…”

She presses the 23 button and smiles sweetly at him.

“Director Fury can suck it.”

 

 

She practically sprints off the elevator and down the hall where Coulson points. He’s following her, and trying to get her to listen to him, but his words are just an annoying buzz in her ears. She stops at the door to the suite he indicates and knocks, her heart hammering in her throat. There’s no answer. She rounds on Coulson in frustration.

“Where is he?”

Coulson fiddles with a device on his wrist.

“Ah, sensors indicate that he’s in there, Dr. Foster….I….but really you need to come with…”

“Can you open this?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Can you get some computer thing to override this door’s lock or something and FUCKING OPEN IT?”

“Oh…well, yes, sure…ah..”

“DO IT!” she yells, and he mutters something into the same device and there’s a snick and a click and a light above the door handle turns green. She opens it and slips inside, smiling sweetly at Coulson and shutting the door in his face while she says, “And now, never do it again. Bye!”

She stops there on the threshold and looks around. She’s standing in a living room. Her feelings towards SHIELD warm a little as she sees the effort they’ve gone to to make Thor feel at home. The floors are golden hardwood, with soft carpets here and there which sort of resemble furs. The couches are large and sturdy and comfortable, in reds and golds. There are jewel-bright cushions strewn about on them, red and gold and green and blue. A big plasma screen television adorns one wall. It’s on, tuned to what she thinks is a rugby match. It’s being commentated in a language she doesn’t understand. The other walls sport big lifelike prints of vast forests, soaring cliffs, and crashing waterfalls, as well as a couple of wall-sized tapestries that look vaguely Old Norse in origin. To the right is an open eat-in kitchen area with an oak table and four chairs. The refrigerator is huge. There’s an open box of pop tarts on the cabinet. She smiles. She can hear water running through an open doorway. It leads into a bedroom, which is also perfect for him. The bed puts California King to shame, and the headboard looks like it’s made of entire tree trunks. The bedspread is thick and inviting, a rich royal blue with gold embroidery. There’s a fireplace (she assumes it’s gas, as she doesn’t recall any chimneys and they’re about ten floors down from the roof anyway) with an enormous bearskin rug in front of it. This makes her laugh. The boots they bought at Wal Mart (but never actually paid for, she remembers) are lying discarded by the bed. As are a pair of blue jeans and a purple t-shirt. She hears the water turn off, and her head turns toward the partly-open bathroom door, where steam is curling out in tendrils. The steam smells like sandalwood and cedar. She’s just standing there, frozen, transfixed, when the door opens and he steps into the room. Water from his shower beads on his skin, flushed from the heat. He has a towel hitched precariously around his hips. She can see his hip bones riding above it, the split in the side where the edges of the towel meet exposing the long muscled length of his thigh. His hair hangs down to the hard planes of his shoulder blades, dark antique gold from the wetness, and plastered to his skin. She becomes aware that she’s not breathing, and gasps. He stiffens, and then turns slowly towards her. Their eyes lock, and they’re just frozen there in time for a few throbbing heartbeats.

“Jane,” he breathes her name, and a smile like a thousand kilowatt bulb splits his face. He reaches towards her with one hand. She takes one step towards him and then she’s running, and she hurls herself into his arms. He grabs her, holds her by her thighs when she wraps them around his waist. Then she’s kissing him, or he’s kissing her. His mouth tastes like cinnamon and sugar.

“I missed you,” she exclaims, hauling her mouth off him for a second. The towel has given up in futility and puddles on the floor at his feet. It’s evident he missed her too. Very evident. She kisses him again, her fingers digging into the rock-hard muscles in his shoulders. She bites his lip and whimpers into his mouth, and she’s whispering, over and over, the same thing:

“Nownownownownow.”

He drops her back onto the bed and kneels over her, his knees framing her hips. She reaches for him, any part of him she can touch, but he growls at her. His fists are bunched in her blouse and buttons zing all over the room when he parts the fabric like wet toilet paper. She toes her shoes off frantically while he’s making short work of her pants. Bra and panties vanish like the steam from his shower. His mouth feels like hot wet fire when he takes in one of her nipples and sucks deeply. She feels it pucker against his tongue. Cool droplets of water from his hair dot her heated flesh. Her entire body feels fevered, as though illness consumes her and he’s her only cure. She wants him everywhere, needs him to touch and taste her, all of her, but now…oh now, she just needs….

“Please,” she cries. “Thor please!”

He understands. He always does. He yanks her close to the edge of the bed, which is tall, and spreads her legs roughly. His big hands grip her thighs as he steps between them, lowers his hips, and fills her.  Tears well up in her eyes as he moves within her, as relentless and powerful as the tide. There is no pain. It’s just been such a completely fucked up week and now…now she’s where she belongs. She stares into his eyes, drinks her fill of the sight of him, and his blue eyes burn down at her like the heart of a flame, hot and hungry. He consumes her. She knows how good his control is, that he can go for hours, bringing her again and again. That isn’t what she wants now, not this time. Her heart stutters wildly as she feels pleasure start to swamp her, and her hands grip his wrists.

“Thor…” her voice is urgent, desperate. “With me. Please!”

Though he is intent on fucking his way through her to the other side, one corner of his mouth quirks up and she knows he sees what she needs.

“Ah…always, Jane,” he gasps.

When she soars, he flies with her.

 

 

It’s a really great day. She finally takes pity on Agent Coulson and attends the debriefing with Fury, after which she decides he’s not an asshole, he’s just really really into his job. The labs are amazing. She spends the better part of the afternoon there. Dr. Banner is terrific, and really, after you’ve held the god of thunder inside your body, he’s just not that scary. There’s something despairing in him, and she feels sympathy for him, and likes him very much. He’s also brilliant. She tells Tony this when he sweeps into the lab making disparaging comments about how his is bigger. He acts deeply offended and assures her he’s way smarter. Clearly he and Banner like each other a lot. She can hardly wait to work with both of them.

The SHIELD agents she encounters are very kind, and her reunion with Erik is tearful and heartwarming. The rest of the team is great too. She finds Natasha a little intimidating. There’s just something lethal about that woman. Thor has told her how Black Widow rescued Hawkeye from Loki’s control by hitting him really hard in the head. Looking at the two of them, there’s something in their body language towards each other that tells her it’s a lot more than that. Hawkeye tells her how he was there the night Thor broke into the hammer site in the desert and kicked….well, everybody’s ass. She recognizes in his tone that he developed an admiration for the Asgardian man that night, and that he also saw Thor shattered when Mjolnir refused to recognize him. Hawkeye’s a perceptive guy. Of all of them, she thinks he’s the only one who sees very far past Thor’s exuberance and also his scary power to the man underneath. She sees when he talks to her that he respects Thor not just for being scary strong and the only one who can stand up to the Hulk, but for what he’s suffered as well. She likes him a lot for that. Even if his girlfriend looks like she could kill you with her pinkie. And despite the fact that the others seem oblivious to it, Natasha _is_ his girlfriend.

She doesn’t get back to Thor’s suite until night has fallen. He’s waiting for her there, and has ordered dinner. They don’t have Italian food on Asgard, and he’s developed a liking for it. She smells tomato sauce and basil and spices. She realizes she’s ravenous. She has a moment of guilt that she’s left him alone all afternoon, but he’s interested in her day, and there’s no sign at all that he minds. He’s been busy too, he tells her. Fury has some of the agents teaching him stuff. He’s fascinated by the Internet, and movies, and unsurprisingly very interested in sports. It’s not for the reason she thinks though. Not just because it’s a guy thing. He makes very insightful correlations between the rules and methods of various sports and the arts of war and being a warrior.

“Your people have so very nearly quelled the warrior spirit within themselves,” he comments as he consumes lasagna like a starving thing. “I find it pleases me to see it still exists in at least some form.” Then again, she reminds herself not to be surprised. There’s so much more to him than most people realize. She’s been talking to scientific geniuses for so long today that she’s forgotten the simple wisdom of a man who sees clearly can be more useful than science.

They clean up the supper dishes together and she’s so happy she thinks she might just float away. There are no constraints here. He isn’t cramped into her tiny camper where every time he turns around he may break something. They don’t have to inch their way around each other to get to the sink, or to grab a drink of wine. Of which she’s had three glasses, and is feeling a little giddy with it. Though he dwarfed her camper, he actually seems even bigger here, where there is space for him. Unconfined, he seems to luminesce with some inner fire. He is so much larger than life. She loves him ridiculously.

There’s something preoccupying him as they move about, washing and putting away, pausing to touch each other and then continue what they were doing, laughing about this or that. It’s not a bad kind of preoccupation. In fact, as the minutes pass, his eyes grow hotter and more intent when he looks at her and she realizes it isn’t really preoccupation. It’s anticipation. He’s thinking hard about something, and from the heat he’s sending in her direction, she knows it’s something sexy. She feels an ache develop between her legs, a pool of warmth in her belly. She glances at the clock. It’s a little after ten. Why hasn’t he swept her off to bed yet? She’s drying off the last plate with a dishtowel, and reaches to put it away, when she feels him behind her. She turns, and finds him standing very close. He places his hands on the counter behind her, framing and trapping her body. He’s looking at the floor, which is a little odd.

“Jane,” he whispers, and his voice is like melting chocolate, deep and dark as sin.

“Ah…yes?” she asks.

“Would you say that I am a man of my word?” She wonders why he isn’t looking at her, wonders if she’s misread his body language and there is something wrong after all.

“Of course I would. Thor, your word means more to you than any other person I know!”

“Do you remember the dressing room at the Mart of Walls, Jane?’ he continues. Her belly clenches because before things went insane…oh yeah. She remembers very well how hard he made her come, how he lost himself in her mouth. She…..remembers….his voice, sinful and sexy and threatening….

Oh.

He drags his eyes up from the floor, slowly. Agonizingly slowly, they blaze a path up her body until he gazes into her eyes. He is intent. Predatory. Unflinching.

“Go in the bedroom and remove your clothing Jane,” he purrs with deadly menace. “Now.”

“Uh…Th…Thor, I think we need to…”

His hand covers her mouth and his face moves closer to her own. All she can see are his eyes, burning into her. Merciless.

“Now.”

He steps back, gives her a gentle shove in the right direction, and delivers a stinging slap to her bottom that makes her squeak a little. She obeys him, rubbing her offended cheek. He has lit the fireplace in the bedroom, and its warm golden glow is the only light in the room. Her head is reeling. Honestly, after all the chaos, and the joy of being reunited with him, she had forgotten all about what he’d promised that day, with his sinful fingers driving her insane, holding her against him and driving her ruthlessly to shatter in his arms. The whispered promise comes roaring back to her now, and she’s frankly terrified. He’s huge. She’s never done anything like what he’s threatening, and she really doesn’t think it’s anatomically possible. Not without damaging her. Part of her wants to panic, wants to run from him, but the scientist in her won’t let that happen. The scientist in her reminds her coolly that she trusts him. That he’s promised never to harm her, and that experience has only confirmed that promise. Strangely enough it is also the scientist in her that is intrigued more than scared. Can he? Can _she_? And all the parts of her know that he keeps his word. He died for her. She defied the laws of physics for him. Can she really do less than trust him now? But her fingers are shaking when she takes off her clothes, and because she feels more naked than usual, she dives under the covers of his bed and pulls them up to her chin, hugging her knees to her chest.

He comes to the doorway, already shedding his shirt. While the sight of his body usually titillates her, now all she sees is the size of him, his broad shoulders nearly filling the doorway. He smiles when he sees her buried under the covers like a child. He unfastens the top button of his jeans and she gulps. He sits down on the edge of the bed. She hides her face in the covers when she feels it sag under his weight. He’s taking off his shoes. She trembles a little. Oh god, she’s so fucking scared right now, and yet she’s also aware that she feels like someone squeezed a grape between her legs, and the knot in her belly isn’t only fear. He rolls towards her and gently tugs the comforter down so he can see her face. She tries not to let him, but this is futile. He’s smiling gently, but the burn is still there, like banked coals in the cobalt of his amazing eyes. She makes a small sound of protest, and he smiles.

“Jane. Don’t be afraid. Have I not promised that I shall never harm you?”

She nods. She looks at him, and she’s confused because he’s still wearing his jeans. They ride low on his hips, the top button still open, and the faint line of hair on his belly that disappear down them fascinates her as always. He sees her confusion and his smile widens a bit.

“I thought it best not to confront you with the…immediacy…of my arousal in this case, my heart. While I know I have behaved like a rutting bull with you on many occasions, this time it will not be so. Did you think I would simply roll you over and split you like a peach?’

Oh for the sake of all that’s sacred, does he have to say shit like that to her? She finds it difficult to whimper and giggle at the same time, but she manages. His gaze is tender but there is resolve in him.

“I’ll have what I promised you, Jane,” he says soflty, and his hand cups her cheek so gently she feels like a baby bird in his hand. “I will have it. But I’ll prepare you first. There will ever be only truth between us, love. It will hurt. You’ll scream from it. But Jane…I would rather cut off my own arm than harm you. Ever. Believe this.”

And she does. She must. He’ll never lie to her. And besides, fuck, when he says things like that, all she wants is to give him anything he asks for. Half of what he does to her hurts. But it’s glorious pain, and when she screams for him it’s like being born. She’s still scared, but the fear is spice to the need now. She lowers the covers and leans forward to kiss him.

“I do,” she whispers.

He lays down beside her and hauls her on top of him, arranging her legs on either side of his waist so their faces are level. This actually puts her hips a good bit above his, but when his hands skim down to stroke over her ass and then trickle between her thighs, she realizes this is intentional. He kisses her deeply and one of his hands gently spreads the folds of her dripping pussy. With one finger of the other hand, he softly strokes the length of her open sex, and she wriggles. He spends several minutes skimming a fingertip over her clit so softly she wants to scream. She lays her head down and bites him on the neck. The finger is withdrawn and he smacks her naked bottom sharply. She gasps and he chuckles.

“You want to be a good girl for me now, Jane,” he whispers.  Hell, she wants to give him the stars when he talks like that. Oh wait. Been there, done that. Got one _hell_ of a souvenir to show for it. She whines and her hips buck against him. “I love how your sex weeps for me, Jane,” he continues, and the finger returns. “You fire my blood like no woman has ever done before. Every day, the wanting only deepens. It will never stop, my heart. I shall burn for you until the stars fall and the oceans run dry.” She makes a mindless sound of need when his finger dips inside her. “But you do not get to come for me yet,” he growls, and his teeth close softly on her earlobe, then nip sharply.  She squeaks.

When his finger is coated with the juice her body drools for him, he drags it slowly up the fissure between her cheeks. She whimpers when the slick tip of his finger softly circles the rosebud of her asshole. She shivers. It almost tickles. His fingertip presses slowly, and the little pucker parts for him. She squirms and gasps as he slowly eases his finger in until she feels his knuckles pressed against her bottom. He does this so slowly and so carefully that there isn’t even the slightest ache or sting. It…ok…it actually feels kind of hot. He keeps it there, gently wriggles it a little, for quite some time, until she’s panting with impatience. She feels his jaw move against her cheek where he has pressed his face, as he smiles.

“So eager,” he whispers. He drags his finger out of her ass with agonizing slowness while she whimpers and wriggles in his arms. He spends endless minutes finger fucking her asshole so slowly she thinks she’s going to kill him soon.  Sweet merciful lord, will the man not get on with it already?

After what seems like decades but it probably less than an hour, he sits up in the bed so he’s leaning against the headboard. Like she is of no more weight than a child’s toy, he rearranges her face down over hip lap. She makes an alarmed sound of protest. He chuckles. He knows what she’s thinking, damn the man.

“Fear not, my love,” he says in his rumbling voice that she feels in her bones like distant thunder. “When I decide to…discipline you….you will know it.”

Fuck. Just….fuck.

She feels him lean towards the bedside table and then something cool and round is set down in the middle of her back. She has a moment of confusion until she hears and feels him unscrewing a lid, then the scent of sandalwood fills the room. It’s a jar of some kind of ointment. One of his hands gently presses apart the cheeks of her bottom and she buries her face in the bed sheets in embarrassment. She feels the cool air of the room on her anus and she tenses. This is…oh, it’s humiliating. She’s never felt more exposed in her life. She flinches and her body heaves to roll off his lap. He growls, and one strong arm encircles her waist, trapping her right where she is.

“And if you don’t wish me to decide to do so _now_ ,” he says silkily. “You’ll be a good girl for me, love.” This deliciously threatening statement is punctuated by another very firm spank on her backside, which really does sting. A lot. She yelps, and subsides.

He dips his fingers into the little pot of cream and opens her again, this time using the slick silky substance to tickle her asshole instead of her own juices. There’s no resistance at all when his finger slides in, and she moans softly. It feels…hot. Dirty and perverse, but hot. Or…maybe that’s why it feels hot. Hell if she knows. She just doesn’t want him to stop. Her pussy aches for him though, and she grinds it against his lap a little bit, hoping for some friction. His erection feels like a baseball bat through his jeans. She knows this is only because she’s aware of what he plans to do with it, but she’s never been so intimidated by his size as she is now. She stops squirming and shivers. With agonizing slowness, he adds a second finger, and this time she hisses because she feels the stretch. It still doesn’t hurt. His fingers are slipperier than grease, and very careful. But when the tight ring of her hole tugs to allow him entrance, she gets a sense of what being really FILLED this way may be like. Oh god. Oh shit. Oh fuck. She’s scared again now, and her brain reels a little from the rollercoaster she’s on.

His fingers are oversized just like the rest of him, so by the time he’s worked in the second one, there’s a little discomfort. He sits patiently, waiting for her body to adjust, before he moves them. When she relaxes, he slowly and carefully twists both fingers.  She gasps, but it’s not bad now. Her hips roll a little and she feels his own lift in response. He’s been hard as steel the whole time. She’s never known him to show this much restraint. It has to be clawing in his guts by now. He scissors his fingers gently back and forth, and her sphincter muscle stings a bit as he stretches her. There’s a hum of pleasure in his chest when she whimpers and squirms.  It’s less gentle now. His fingers force her open, working her and pulling at her, and she moans into the sheets. When he separates his fingers she squeals at the ache, the burn, but he holds her like that, quivering, stinging, while she whines. Slowly, the ache subsides and she relaxes a little, panting. He adds more of the slick stuff, and pushes her ‘til she’s moaning and whining again. Over and over he does this, until she’s utterly lost in sensation. Her pussy throbs and needs. Her asshole feels ten times its normal size, and she can already tell she’s going to be sore tomorrow. He is careful, but he is determined.

At long last he eases her off him, situates two pillows in the middle of the bed and lays her over them. She starts to shake, and cannot look at him when she hears him take off his pants. He’s breathing hard. The bed sags again, and he’s kneeling over her, framing her upraised ass. His hands grasp her cheeks gently and press, opening her. Her breath hitches and she’s seized by a fine trembling in every muscle. She feels claustrophobic in a way she never has before.  The head of his cock nudges at her anus and she tenses.

“Jane,” he says softly. “Relax. ‘Twill hurt more if you tense that way. Let your body relax, and push against me. Shh. Trust me Jane.”

“I….I….I do. Thor, I’m scared!” His big hands stroke her hips, her thighs, her back. He murmurs softly to her, and his voice is soothing. She remembers that her love for him has moved galaxies. This is Thor, and she trusts him. She relaxes.

He eases forward, opening her, and her breath hisses through her teeth. He’s never seemed more huge. Her hole opens for him reluctantly, and oh, it burns. She gasps for breath, and whimpers. He is slow, and he is careful, but he is inexorable. She quivers, panting, and tries her best to push back against him as instructed. The head of his cock opens the ring of her sphincter .

“ _Hnnn_ …..THOR!!”

His hands grasp her hips, holding her still, and he pauses.

“Hush Jane, all is well. Hush now.” He pets her, still motionless. “To whom do you belong, Jane?” he whispers.

“You,” she gasps. “Always” He makes a pleased sound and she senses a tensing in his body.

“Jane,” he purrs. “Brace yourself.”

Before she has a chance to absorb what he says, he pushes himself the rest of the way into her, in one long, slow, but unrelenting thrust.

He’s right. She does scream. She feels as though he’s splitting her in half. When his hips press against her buttocks, he stops, resting his weight on her, motionless. He lets her adjust to the invasion. She starts to cry, she can’t help herself. It hurts, yes. Aches like the very devil. Burns like she’s been torn (though she doesn’t think she has, really). But more than that, it is the most vulnerable and helpless she has ever felt in her entire life. She can’t struggle, for fear of harming herself. She can’t get away, as he’s far too strong. She can do nothing but lie there, spitted on his enormous erection, and submit. She feels invaded, violated. Possessed. At last, the burn subsides and he begins to move, rocking his hips gently against hers. She shakes and cries, because she feels completely exposed. It is an all-encompassing weakness, the sense that there is none of her he does not fill, does not claim. She hurts, but no more than other pains he’s given her, and there is heat there still, twisting in her belly. She cries because it is so much, so shattering, and he puts a hand in her hair, turns her head to the side. His hips slam against her, making her squeal, and at the same time he leans forward and kisses the tears from her cheek. The heat begins to uncoil, writhing in her, sinuous, heavy.

“Thor,” she sobs. “Please! I can’t!”

“You can,” he growls, and now he fucks her, harder, because he feels her body loosening for him, and he knows better than she does that indeed she really can. “You will. You’re mine, Jane Foster. You will take what I give you. All of me. _Hnn_. You’ll take it. And you love it, Jane. _Mmn._ You need it. _Uhh._ Positively. Require it.” He punctuates his words with brutal thrusts that wrench screams from her.

His hands under her arms lift her up so her back is to him. The penetration is a little less deep this way, a little less terrifyingly enormous. He places her hands on the headboard and snarls at her to keep them there. She hears him dimly and holds on gamely, her body jolted by his pounding. Her head is spinning. One of his hands holds her hips still for his ravishment, but the other slides like silk over her hip and belly and between her legs. His sinful fingers find her clit and pinch, softly at first and then harder, and she screams and shoves back against him. He fastens his teeth at the place where her neck and shoulder meet and bites her, deeply. He holds her there, snarling into her flesh, while he fucks into her like he’ll tear her asunder. His clever fingers pinch and then soothe, stroking and coaxing at her swollen clit until her sobs are of need, desperate and all-consuming. She shrieks when she comes, it tears from her throat like she isn’t even human. His rhythm falters when the rippling contractions of her release milk his cock, and he shouts when he empties himself in her, his arms around her, shuddering.

He lowers them both, trembling and drenched and aching, to the bed, and brushes her hair out of her face so he can press a kiss to her temple. She sobs a little when he slips slowly out of her, because it aches deep inside her. She turns in his arms and buries her face in his chest, and she goes to pieces. He whispers and cuddles her close and rains kisses on her face and licks her tears away. She doesn’t cry because he’s hurt her. He’s done so before, and no doubt will again. She cries because he’s _wrecked_ her, and her small body cannot contain the emotions. She feels wrung out, drained, more naked than she’s ever been. Somehow, he knows not to ask if she is hurt, if she is all right. He always seems to know. He holds her, and he cherishes her, and he lets her slowly reclaim her identity as he protects her, cuddles the small quivering thing that hides deep at her core, whose shelter he has ripped asunder and left her exposed and weak and helpless. Somehow, because he holds her, and because it is him who has done the tearing, she finds the thing inside her grows as his arms surround her, until it no longer trembles. He may shatter her, may wreck her body and turn everything she knows upside down, but here there is safety. Here, she is home.


	3. Jane Makes It Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jane gets a little of her own back, and a lot of expensive electronic equipment gets wet

“How strong do you think Thor is, really?”

Bruce looks up from a machine he’s calibrating. He needs a haircut, she thinks, as his shaggy brown hair falls in his eyes. He frowns, thinking it over while he makes notes and checks readings.

“Comparatively, or quantitatively?” he asks, absorbed in his task but still giving her his attention too. She loves multitaskers!

“Hm. Both?”

“Very well. Compared to what, then? An M1 Abrams tank?”

She giggles.

“Sure.”

“He probably can’t pick it up and throw it, but he can probably snap off the barrel and rip the hatch open like a sardine can. Oh, and I don’t think it could hurt him, either.”

Wow, she mouths silently.

“What about compared to…you?” she asks. Bruce frowns deeper. His soft brown eyes are intent on his calculations, He turns his back on her, jotting something down.

“He could squash me like a bug,” he says absently. Poor Bruce. Thor tells her he’s better since the invasion. Since he was able to channel Hulk’s rage into something useful  for once. But he still hates what he is. She thinks it’s harder with Steve here. He sees what he should have been. It’s a constant reminder of his failure. Yet he likes Steve. Really, it’s almost impossible not to. He’s just so….nice. She smiles to herself when she realizes once upon a time, she’d have been all over a man like Steve. That she’d believed strongly she wanted a nice man. Thor’s not a nice man. Thank god. Or Odin. Whatever.

“Not YOU you,” she says gently. “The other guy.”

He sighs.

“I know what you meant,” he says. “It’s hard to say, because I’ve never been able to remember very much about what happens when….he comes out. Except that day. I remember some of that. But…the Hulk _could_ pick up the tank in question. However, that’s more an application of mass ratio than actual simple strength. Hulk’s a lot bigger than Thor. I hear Thor fought him to a standstill though, so I’d guess they’re pretty even. That’s…incredible. And Tony says he flew him into a cliff and Thor didn’t even chip a nail. His words, by the way, not mine. Then you have to account for the speed at which he can fly, reaching what we must assume is at least terminal velocity….oh hell Jane. He’s fucking strong.”

She laughs.

“Ok, what about quantitatively?”

“Less data there, my dear colleague,” he says, and he’s smirking now. “Fury had him lab tested. Thor broke all his machines. It was a good day. Wish you’d been here to see it. Fury’s getting more and more pissed cause Thor’s crushing handles and isometric grips, accidentally throwing thousand-pound weights through the ceiling because he’s so honest he takes people’s word for stuff and when the lab tech tells him to pull as hard as he can, he does. Thor’s getting annoyed because this is like asking a draft horse to pull a pony cart. He finally picks Fury up. _Picks him UP_! He looks at him for this long moment, says, ‘My friend, I am strong enough.’ He sets him down, and walks out. Tony’s lying on the floor laughing. God, it was priceless.”

Jane giggles when she hears this. Oh, she can see it all right. No wonder Fury seems irritated every time he’s around Thor. She doubts someone who’s as much of a control freak as Fury is ever going to forget something like that. Deserved it though.

“Why do you ask, incidentally?” questions Bruce. “Academic curiosity, or are you wanting to use him to rearrange the Tower. And by that I mean move it to Cincinnati.”

“Um,” says Jane. “I…ah.”

“Is this one of those things I don’t want to know?”

“Probably.”

He nods and goes back to his work. She does as well. But his voice, humorous and dry, makes her choke on the coffee she sips and she turns to stare at him in blank surprise when he says,

“If you’re planning to tie him to the bed, no, there’s not a substance that can restrain him. Besides, he can just break the bed. Better hope he just feels cooperative.”

“Doctor Banner!” she exclaims in surprise and embarrassment. He grins unrepentantly.

**********************************************

She’s been thinking about this for days. Maybe weeks. Ok, since the day he walked back into her lab and her whole completely fucked up life righted itself in one shining moment. But she’s been *really* thinking about it since he….well. It had been terrifying and exhilarating and painful and good. She wants to know what he’s willing to take for her now. Well…she’s probably actually not prepared to go as far as he probably would let her. Maybe eventually. She walks around for days wishing she has someone to talk to about it when she runs into Natasha in one of the dozen or so eateries in the tower. Nastasha scares the shit out of her, but today she’s only sitting quietly at a table by herself, sipping coffee, nibbling on a pastry, reading a report of some kind, and….shifting uncomfortably in her chair. Like she’s having trouble sitting down. As Jane watches curiously, Natasha reaches back absently and rubs her backside, and she smiles. The Black Widow fucking grins a naughty secret little grin, and closes her eyes for a second, and then tries once more to find a more comfortable way to sit. Jane’s stunned. But she couldn’t pass it up. Getting herself a mug of coffee, she goes and sits down, surprising Natasha considerably, because it’s the first time she’s done so.

“Hi,” she says. Natasha raises an eyebrow, but returns the greeting. At that point Jane makes inane small talk for a few minutes until Nastasha cuts her off with a quirk of her lips.

“Did you want something, Jane? Specifically?”

Jane gulps, offers up a prayer to Asgard that Natasha isn’t going to be killing her soon, with the pastry probably, and dives in. Well, wades in. Awkwardly.

“I…um…noticed that you were having…that is I saw how you were sitting…oh god, I mean how you’re kinda having trouble…”

Natasha stares at her in fascination, or disgust, Jane can’t tell, and lets her flounder around for a long fucking time. Then she sighs.

“If you’re trying to ask why I’m shifting around in my chair like it hurts to sit, I’d say it’s none of your damn business, but I sense there’s  more to your question than prurient curiosity. Let me guess. Thor likes to be a little rough in the bedroom.”

“Yes,” Jane sighs in relief.

“Well to answer the question you have now failed to ask about fifteen different ways, I’m having trouble sitting down because Clint spanked me.”

Jane buries her face in her mug in embarrassment.

“Wow. Ok. Um. Did you…I mean was it…”

“Yes, I wanted him to. Yes, it was intense. Afterwards I came so hard I almost lost consciousness. Are you trying to get Thor to spank you?”

Jane gulps desperately on her coffee.

“N..no, not exactly. Though I think that’s in the plans at some point. He keeps mentioning flogging. No. Um. I wondered….do you ever like….change places?”

Natasha smiles a sly and private smile that makes Jane feel like a voyeur.

“Fucking right we do. Are you asking for details?”

“I feel certain they’d probably make me want to bleed from my brain,” says Jane faintly. Natasha’s grin is fierce.

“Almost certainly. So what’s your question.”

“Ah…how did you ask him to…”

Natasha actually laughs.

“Do I look like I do a lot of asking? But actually, I hate to disappoint you, Hawkeye just sort of…showed me he likes being topped. Do you know what that means?”

Jane blushes, but she nods. She’s been reading.

“We just…pay attention to each other’s body language, and let each other know what we need. Barton’s a filthy whore, to tell the truth. I’m not sure there’s much he wouldn’t try, if I wanted it.”

“Oh,” says Jane faintly, feeling that she could have gone the rest of her life not knowing this about Hawkeye. He seems so predatory and collected.  She’s never going to be able to look at him again without blushing.

“Jane,” says Natasha. “Thor adores you. If he’s the godlike powerhouse in the sack I think he is, and if he’s as…enthusiastic about it as he is about pizza and marshmallows and chocolate and football and video games and…well. You get my point. Every new experience is like a fucking birthday present to him. He’s this massive, powerful, unstoppable force, but he’s also like a damn kid with a new bicycle about everything.”

“Especially oral sex,” murmurs Jane.

Nastasha stops talking and stares at her for a few seconds.

“Really?”

“Mm. I don’t think he needs to breathe,” she says. In for a penny, in for a pound. Besides, Natasha started it.

“I may kill you after all, Foster.”

“If you want me to have him give Clint some advice…”

“Oh…I don’t think so. Clint has a tongue like a lizard. You’re just going to have to handle the fact that your boyfriend’s eye candy. I may be taken but I’m not dead. Is he…that huge…everywhere?”

“Mm. Totally.”

“Bitch.”

“Slut,” says Jane. Is she really trading insults with the deadliest killer she’s ever known? Well, whatever. They both smile. Natasha returns to the point she was trying to make earlier.

“Anyway. Seriously. Just…take what you want, Jane. Thor will go along with it. I can’t promise he’ll like it, but he strikes me as the kind of guy who’s willing to try just about anything. Especially for you.”

 

She likes the bed. Doesn’t want him to break the bed. Thinks….hopes….he won’t. Oh what the hell. Fury can buy them another one. She’s been shopping. New York has some pretty amazing shops. The ones she goes to have her ears reddening with embarrassment, but she finds what she wants. He usually only takes notice of her underwear long enough to remove it. Forcibly. Which is fine with her. She means him to notice now. She lights the fire, dims the lights, places warmly scented candles around the bedroom that remind her of the forest. She changes into her purchase, arranges another purchase or two. Or three. She’s terribly excited but nervous too. If he doesn’t….if he won’t…

She thinks he will, though. He’d die for her. What’s a little step outside the usual routine compared to that? He’s been studying Earth customs and technology again. She can tell from the slightly bemused look on his face and the little frown between his eyebrows when he walks through the door. So much of it just escapes him. She thinks it’s adorable.

“Why would a great military forbid the practice of same-sex partnerings in its ranks, Jane?” he asks in a mystified voice. He’s been on U.S. Military practices, tactics and regulations for the last few days. Some of it he admires. Some of it simply baffles him. “Shieldbrothers should be allowed….nay, encouraged, to fulfill one another’s needs while away on long marches, or in dangerous situations. They defend one another, kill for one another, bind one another’s wounds. When the rage of battle has been too much, when one’s eyes and heart are full of death and despair, should not the arms of one’s brother bring what comfort they may? When the blood lust is spent, it is common for the lusts of the body to linger. Many a warrior seeks carnal pleasure after battle. If one is far from home and hearth, why should he…or she…not meet this need any way he wishes? So long as it harms none, why should such a thing ever be wrong?”

His open views on sexuality surprised her at first. He’s such a bloody _Viking_ that she’d expected his attitudes towards sex to be virtually Neanderthal. He informed her with dignity that Viking shieldbrothers sought comfort in each other all the time. That men who would lay down their lives for one another would certainly also be sensitive to the needs of one another’s bodies. Asgardians, apparently, don’t get hung up very much on the sex…or species…of their partners. She wonders if he’s ever…but she hasn’t asked yet. She’s not quite sure how a yes would make her feel. Besides, when you can fly at like, light speed, how far from hearth and home are you ever, really?

“I don’t know, Thor,” she says, coming to him and putting her arms around him. He’s warm through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. A white one today. It makes him look gilded. He’s always so warm. He hugs her back, apparently just noticing she’s wearing a long silk robe. His thumb rubs the fabric and he makes an appreciative noise in his throat. She takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing. Her heart is hammering and her palms are sweating. He’s too observant by half, and pulls back a little in concern.

“Jane?” he asks, his forehead crinkling. “Is something wrong? Are you ill? Is that why you have donned your sleepwear this early in the evening?”

“No, I’m fine,” she assures him, and rises up on her tiptoes to kiss him. This is always all right with him, and he responds wholeheartedly. Taking a page from his book, she sucks his bottom lip into her mouth and bites it. Hard. He growls and his hands tighten on her hips, where they have slid. He leans into the kiss to return the favor and she backs off, pressing her hands against his chest to hold him back. Which would be laughable, except he cooperates. His tongue strokes his bitten lip while he looks at her quizzically.

“Go in the bedroom, take off your clothes, lie down on the bed, and wait for me,” she whispers. She hopes her voice isn’t shaking.

“Interesting,” he murmurs softly, and the blue of his eyes has darkened to cobalt. He kisses her softly and walks straight to the bedroom. She hears him breathe in the scent of the candles and make an appreciative noise. She also knows how quickly he’s capable of getting naked. She takes the robe off and lays it over the back of the sofa. She goes to the kitchen where she’s poured a glass of wine and downs it in one long swallow.

When she opens the door and stands waiting in the doorway, she becomes aware that they both look a little stunned. He’s….fuck, he’s like acres and acres of nummy goodness spread out on the bed, and all hers. His arms are folded behind his head, one leg drawn up and relaxing to the side, framing his impressive cock, which is already more than half hard. His golden skin gleams like burnished bronze and copper in the firelight. His heavy-lidded gaze is glued to her like he’s a magnet and she’s his lodestone.

The leather cincher she bought at an upscale adult novelty store in SoHo looks painted on her body. The steel boning nips her waist in snugly without being uncomfortable. It lifts her breasts up impressively, though she elected to leave them bare. The lotion she used, however, is edible and tastes like cotton candy. Tiny thong panties barely cover her pubic hair, and garters attached to the cincher catch the sheer silk stockings.  Over-the-knee black leather boots with 5-inch fuck me heels complete her ensemble. She’s been practicing walking in them for days, so she doesn’t wobble when she stalks slowly towards the bed. He swallows visibly.

“Jane…” he rumbles appreciatively.

“Thor,” she replies. Her voice is husky with arousal (and terror but she hopes that part doesn’t show).

“You look….amazing. I like it!”

She crawls onto the bed and up his body, straddling him. His hands come up to grasp her waist, and she puts her hands on his wrists, and leans in close.

“Thor,” she purrs. “What would you do for me?”

“Odin’s beard Jane,” he says fervently. “Dressed like that…name it.”

“Good. Put your hands above your head and grab hold of the headboard.”

His eyes darken, and to her very great delight, he doesn’t even hesitate. His fingers are white as he grips it tightly. The muscles in his arms bunch. She licks her lips. Oh yum. She reaches over him. He leans up to take one her nipples in his mouth. She pulls back, grabs him by his throat, and pushes his head back into the pillow.

“Did I give you permission to touch me?” she hisses angrily. His eyebrows go up, but he’s also licking his lips and staring at her nipples in fascination.

“You taste like spun sugar, Jane. What is…”

“Thor!” she says sharply, and squeezes. He subsides but smiles unrepentantly. She reaches up again, and buckles leather restraint cuffs that are attached to a sturdy strap onto his wrists. She’s already attached it to the headboard. She knows that if he doesn’t want to be restrained, he’ll break free of them like they’re made of tissue paper. He glances up at what she’s doing to his hands and lets her manhandle him docilely. A smile plays at his lips as he watches her fondly.

“Am I your prisoner, Jane?” he asks in amusement.

“Yes,” she says sternly. He laughs in delight. “Laugh all you want, big boy. You’re not going to be laughing long. Thor, I want your oath on something.”

She chooses these words deliberately, because his oath is something he will not violate.

“What is it,” he asks guardedly.

“You won’t try to break free. Tonight is mine. I want…I want to play with you Thor. I want you to let me. Swear it.”

“My oath on it, Jane,” he says solemnly, but his eyes are shining.

And then, just like that, it’s completely ok and she’s not nervous anymore. His oath binds him tighter than any substance in the universe. He’s tied to the bed as securely as if he were a mortal man. She sits back on her haunches and just….looks at him for a while. Where the hell do you start when there’s a Norse god captive in your bed and he can’t get away? Well first off, you sit there and just think “Yay!” for a little while.

“Thor,” she says seriously, looking him in the eyes. “I get to do whatever I want. You can tell me to stop, you can ask me to stop. You can beg me to stop. Actually…I kind of hope you do. But I won’t.”

“You can’t hurt me, Jane,” he says.

“I know that. I don’t want to hurt you. I want to drive you nuts. I want you shaking and begging and desperate. But I also…I don’t want to spoil it. I know we have…cultural differences sometimes. If I do anything that bothers you, or makes you mad, or whatever, just say ‘Red’ and I’ll stop.”

He smiles.

“I misdoubt there is aught you can do which would bother me, my heart,” he says. She frowns at him, pinches him on the thigh.

“Did I ask you what you thought? Say it.”

He sighs.

“Red,” he says patiently.

She really, really hopes she can wipe that smug look off his face. He may have faced down an entire planet of Jotuns, and the Destroyer, and an army of Chitauri, but he’s never had to deal with her when she’s feeling mean and sexy. He’s never had to wait when he wanted. He’s never had to lie helpless and be denied what he craves. What gives her the courage to proceed is that she knows he craves her. Always.

She crawls up his body, holding herself above him, and she kisses him, lightly, using only the barest tip of her tongue. He tries to kiss her back more deeply but she backs off so he can’t reach her. He smiles indulgently and lays his head back on the pillow. She covers his whole body with kisses like this, whisper-soft touches that he can only barely feel. She kisses his fingertips and palms, the insides of his elbows, his neck, jawline, tickles the edge of his ear softer than a breath. She brushes his nipples with her tongue, breathes over the ripple of his abs. She traces the crease where his body and thighs meet. She kisses his knees and his toes (which makes him laugh a little breathlessly). She ignores his cock completely, which is already straining for her. He’s still as a stone, but he’s breathing hard when she finishes.

She gets off the bed, goes to the bedside table where she’s stashed some of her purchases. She pulls out the vibrator. He watches her avidly.

“What is that?” he asks curiously. She’s amazed Tony hasn’t introduced him to porn yet. Or, maybe he has, but the films he chose didn’t have any sex toys in them.

“Be quiet,” she says dismissively. His eyebrows go up as she leans against the wall beside the bed. She raises one leg and puts her foot on the edge of the bed. One hand slowly pulls her panties to the side. He licks his lips. She watches his tongue, thinks about it on her, in her. Well. It’s a good thing this part won’t take long, as she’s eager to get on with it. She turns on the vibrator. She leans back, watching him through her eyelashes, gasps when she brushes the buzzing tip over her clit. He stares at her, lips parted, while she masturbates and ignores him. Well, outwardly ignores him. The sight of him, eager, fascinated, aroused…it’s fucking beautiful. All hers. And completely at her mercy. She’s right, it doesn’t take long. She groans throatily when she comes, and hears him whisper her name. The only attention she pays him is to run one finger through the slickness between her legs and then trace his lips with it. He growls and licks his lips. Maybe she’s not too bad at this.

She straddles his belly, knowing he can feel the heat and wet of her pussy pressed against him, and can’t touch it. She leans forward, presses her mouth against the rigid tendon in his neck, and bites him. She bites steadily and hard, until his breath rasps in his throat, almost a moan. She backs off, panting, looking at the deep imprint of her teeth. His hips jerk, and she pinches him again, harder this time. He makes a small pain sound, but it doesn’t sound entirely unhappy either. She covers every interesting part of him she can sink teeth into with deep bite marks. His chest is heaving, sheened with a fine gleam of sweat, by the time she gets to his cock. She’s not sure she’d dare this unless she already knew he likes it. She doesn’t stroke him, doesn’t use her mouth to do anything except take as much of him in as she can and slowly start bearing down with her teeth. She builds a slow, steady pressure until she hears him start to whisper something in a language she doesn’t understand. So he does have one. She bears down with her teeth until he’s shouting hoarsely, then she backs off, and watches him writhe. His fists are clenched and his eyes are closed. God. That he lets her mark him, that he gives her this power, it’s making her head spin. To see all that power, held in check, just for her. Shit, she’s aching inside for him again, only this time the vibrator isn’t going to do. She crawls up him again, higher, until she straddles his face. Obediently, he doesn’t move, keeps his tongue in his mouth, though she can feel his breath hot and harsh on her flesh.

“Make me come Thor,” she whispers. He growls and his tongue spears her cunt open. She doesn’t know if they teach this shit on Asgard or if it’s just that he was born to eat pussy. Maybe it’s one of his powers. Flying, calling lightning, interstellar travel, super strength, magic hammer…oral sex. He’s so fucking abandoned when he does it, like he’s dying of thirst and her clit is an oasis. There is never any holding back. He hardly even seems to come up for air. She leans back, puts her hands on his belly, so she can watch him and so she won’t asphyxiate him or anything gross like that. She has no idea how long he can hold his breath. The head of his dick brushes her wrist, and he moans against her. He catches her clit lightly between his teeth, his tongue flickering like a hummingbird’s wing, his lips soft against her heat, and she comes like she’s shaking to pieces. She rolls off him and lays beside him remembering how to breathe for a few minutes. Fuck. Just…fuck. When she’s reasonably sure her legs will support her, she goes to the bathroom, dampens a washcloth. She uses it to clean him up a bit. His eyes are a little wild, the blue reminding her of heat lightning. Outside the window, she hears a rumble of thunder. Oh my. This is new. She looks around for Mjolnir, doesn’t see it. Decides Manhattan can handle a little rain more handily than Wal Mart. If nobody out there wants to get caught in their storm, let em go inside. Damned if a little thunder’s stopping her. She’s drunk on the power she has right now. He’s gasping, and his body trembles like he’s fevered.  She’s done this. And she’s not done. Not even close.

She goes back to the drawer, takes out a thin leather strap with snaps at each end. She looks at it, glances over at him, and hopes it’s long enough. She wraps it around the base of his straining cock and snaps it tight. It fits. Just. He raises his head to look down at what she’s doing. He’s completely baffled. Oh…goody. He has no idea what she’s just done to him. Apparently they don’t have cock rings on Asgard.

She crawls between his legs and shoves his thighs apart. He complies immediately when it’s apparent she means to settle there on her belly, her face level with his erection. She laughs an evil little laugh and slowly runs her tongue up his length, wet and warm. He makes an inarticulate sound deep in his chest. She covers his cock with little kisses and licks while he pants breathlessly. She takes him in her mouth, darts her tongue in the opening at the head, circles it and sucks. She uses her hands once he’s slick with her spit, and gives him a long, slow, maddening hand job. She uses her mouth some more. She inches up a little and rubs his cock between her breasts. After an hour, he’s muttering something over and over again, so softly she can’t make it out. She has no idea what the words for “oh please oh please oh please” are in Old Norse or whatever language he’s speaking, but she reckons the tone is the same in any tongue.

“What’s wrong, Thor?” she whispers, lapping at him like a kitten between words.

“Jane!” he gasps.

“You can’t come,” she says, and her voice is tauntingly gleeful. “Not only that, but as long as this strap stays on, you’ll stay hard. You can’t come, and you can’t wish it away, and you can’t stop me.”

“Jane!” There’s a whine in his voice this time. She laughs, softly, heartlessly. She takes off the boots, slowly slips out of the panties, while he stares wildly at her. His arms are rigid, his hands grip the headboard so hard she thinks she hears something crack a little. Outside, lightning flashes and rain begins to lash the windows. She climbs on top of him, raises above him and slowly…so fucking slowly she makes herself want to whimper, she lowers himself onto him, feeling her pussy clench and grasp. He groans, a tortured sound that delights her. She rides him, slowly and ruthlessly, setting a pace she likes and he clearly finds inadequate.

“Please,” he whispers. His voice and his eyes are frantic.

“No,” she whispers back, merciless. This is heady. She’s drunk with the power.

“Jane,” he cries, almost a scream. “Please. Please. Jane, I cannot bear it.”

She rocks against him and moans low in her throat as her insides start to quiver.

“Beg,” she commands him.

“I….I beg you Jane. Have mercy. My body craves you, my heart shall burst with longing for you. I shall die if I cannot find release in your sweet body. My desire for you rips the heavens asunder. Jane…please…please…oh in the name of all that is holy. My love. My heart. Have mercy. Jane! Please!” His voice hitches, he gasps for breath and he whispers, almost sobs his entreaty and Jesus. Fuck. Shit. He’s gorgeous when he begs. His words pour over her heated skin like witchfire and she whimpers. Panting, gasping his name, she reaches behind her and flicks open the snap with her thumb.

“I release you,” she cries, feeling her belly clench and the first deep ripples of her orgasm shimmering up her thighs and spine. He roars wordlessly and there’s a loud crack. Then his hands are on her hips and he’s thrusting up into her, deep as tides, hammering at the entrance to her womb while lighting blinds her and she shrieks when she shatters around him. It doesn’t matter, for he shatters inside her, the howl tearing from his throat like something not entirely sane. They’ve broken the bed after all. She’s drenched, and she’s crying and laughing all at once and she looks around dazedly for the fire while he holds her hips in a viselike grip and shakes. There must be a fire. The sprinklers have come on. She tries to look over her shoulder at the fireplace when a sizzling crackle of blue energy rolls down the wall and disappears out the window. Oh shit. They’ve done it again. She laughs helplessly and collapses on top of him. His arms go around her and he growls contentedly and neither of them care one goddamn bit if they’re soaked, and the candles are guttering out, and the fireplace hisses, and the sheets may be ruined.

There’s another strange crackle like static and a voice fills the room.

“SOMEBODY EXPLAIN TO ME WHY IT’S FUCKING RAINING IN MY _FUCKING_ OPERATIONS ROOM!!”

“Fury sounds pissed,” whispers Jane, giggling helplessly.

“I am placing the blame securely on your shoulders,” he whispers back, and she’s fascinated to discover he’s almost capable of giggling himself.

“ _My_ shoulders,” she hisses. “I’m not the one who can’t control his thunderstorms.”

He pinches her bottom and says comfortably,

“Entirely your fault. They do not train us to withstand sexual torture in Asgard. Was your mouth not so heated, your sweet quim so tight and torturous, your heart so wicked, so wanton, this would never have happened.”

The intercom crackles again.

“………I HEARD THAT!”

“GODDAMN IT.”

“COULSON!!!! KILL ME!!!! NOW!!!!”

Jane shrieks with laughter.

“Oh god,” she gasps. “I hope he has flood insurance!”

“……FUCK!”

 

 

When they go down to breakfast the next morning, Tony is there. He leaps from his chair, throws himself on his knees in front of Jane, and bows at her feet.


	4. Thor Uses the Internet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thor learns how to use the internet, with surprising results. At this point in the story, you may be a little confused about what's going on with Clint and Natasha, if you weren't already. Read my Clipped Wings story series, which is essentially happening alongside this one, to end the confusion. It's got lots of porn too, but it's darker than this one.

Jane’s getting ready to take out the trash. The building’s equipped with handy recyclers and compacters on each floor. There’s a cleaning service, but she feels funny about letting people she doesn’t know into the suite when nobody’s home. Probably has something to do with the people who OWN this building sweeping in and driving off with her life’s work. Even though they gave it back. Eventually. She’s combining all the waste bins in the suite into one bag when she notices a big wad of paper and a cardboard box in the bedroom waste basket. It’s the remains of some kind of package, and because she hasn’t received any deliveries lately, she’s curious. The plain brown packaging is discreet. The return address on the label says only “De Tails Toys.” There is, however, also a web address. There’s a computer in the small study off the bedroom, a laptop which she’s never used. She’s in the lab all day, using any one of several dozen computers. She manages to find time to check emails there, and she’s generally not interested in using one anymore once she’s done for the day. Who the hell needs the World Wide Web when your boyfriend’s a demigod?

Still. This is sort of odd. She knows Thor’s been taking lessons in earth culture and stuff, but she wouldn’t have thought he’d take to ordering stuff to play with off the internet. She starts to be a little suspicious that Tony may be a worse influence than she could have imagined. And that’s saying something. What on earth can he have gotten up to? Remote control cars? Computer games? Silly gadgets? Golf? (God, she hopes not).

She’s so far off base she has to just sit there for several minutes while her brain tries to process what she’s looking at.

Unless someone else has deposited their trash in here, Thor’s been ordering shit from a bondage website. She wouldn’t put it past Natasha to have done it, and she’s well aware picking the lock on the door would be child’s play for her. She goes in search of her friend before taking further steps. She does think to fold up the torn wrapping paper and cram it in her pocket before she stomps out of the suite.

Natasha isn’t in her room, nor is she in any of the public areas. Jane falters a little at that, but dammit, she has to know. She takes the elevator (figures he’d have his rooms as close to the roof as possible) and bangs on Hawkeye’s door with the side of her fist. There is a very long pause, during which she thinks she hears some suspicious laughter. The door opens just a crack and Clint peers out at her. He’s not wearing a shirt. Oh god.

Jane turns on her heel to leave. Just walk away. This is not something she wants to know that badly, it really isn’t. REALLY ISN’T she shrieks mentally when someone grabs her arm and pulls her back towards the door. Natasha’s snickering at her when she hauls her into the living area of Clint’s quarters. She’s so mean. Jane dares a look and learns what happened to Clint’s shirt. Natasha’s wearing it, and looking tousled and unrepentant. Jane peers at her collarbone and wishes she hadn’t. Jesus, those are teeth marks. She studiously ignores Barton, who leans back against the kitchen island looking entirely comfortable in his half-clothed state. She’s not able to ignore him enough to not notice that the top button of his cargo pants is undone. Or that there are suspicious red marks scored down his back. Or that his lip is bleeding a little. Oh fuck, screw it. She turns and stares suspiciously at both of them. They’re trying not to laugh at her. Who is she kidding? No they’re not. If they were trying not to laugh, they’d succeed. They’re super spies. They have better control over their emotions than anyone else in the world. Except, apparently, not when they’re fucking each other brainless. Which she did not want to know, even though she already did and IS NOT thinking about what Natasha said about Barton’s tongue because it IS NOT any of her business. She has a professional relationship with these people!

“What do you want, Jane?” asks Natasha coolly. Clint snorts, at which his partner sends him a threatening, glare. Jane is almost sure he sticks his tongue out at her. Blushing furiously, Jane pulls the paper out of her pocket, angles her body so Clint can’t see it, and whispers,

“Did you break into Thor’s suite and leave this in the trash? You know, to mess with us?”

Natasha takes the packaging and looks at the label.

“Jane. If I wanted to break into Thor’s suite to mess with you guys, I’d put glue on Mjolnir’s handle and replace your toothpaste with hemorrhoid cream, not leave sex toy packaging in your trash” says Natasha disdainfully. Hawkeye snorts coffee out his nose. Jane glares over her shoulder at him as he coughs explosively.

“YOU are a bad influence on her,” she hisses furiously. Black Widow was a lot easier to understand when she was terrifying. This is embarrassing.

“Hey,” Barton gasps when he’s finally cleared his airway. “I didn’t change her. I like her the way she is. Besides, she could kill me with….with….”

“A melon baller,” supplies Natasha helpfully, deadpan.

“Yeah sure, whatever the fuck that is,” agrees Clint easily.

“A q-tip,” continues Natasha, still helpfully. “two bobby pins and a staple. Fingernail clippers. A handkerchief. A potato. Origami…”

“Hey whoa there Mata Hari,” he says. “We get the point!”

“How do you kill someone with origami?” asks Jane, mystified.

“It’s easy if you fold them enough times.” Natasha looks at the ceiling.

“Ok wow, you are a really disturbing person. And a disturbed one,” says Jane.

“Hey! Get your own,” grouses Hawkeye. “This one’s mine.” Natasha raises an eyebrow at him. “Um.”

Natasha turns her back on him and hands the packaging back to Jane.

“Sorry Foster. I don’t know what that place is.”

“You said it was sex toys!” Jane says hotly. Barton snags the paper out of her hand too quickly for her to realize he’s moved. She yelps in dismay and tries to get it back from him.

“It sounds like it ought to be,” says Natasha, shrugging.

Clint reads the label, holding Jane easily at arm’s length.

“Ah,” he says wisely. Natasha narrows her eyes at him.

“Barton,” she says in a dangerous voice.

“Hm,” he says, looking thoughtfully at Jane.

“Barton,” says Natasha again. “If you answer in a single syllable again, you’re going to be picking teeth up off the floor in about 5 seconds. What do you know about this?”

“I may have…kind of….just a little bit….sentThorthelinktothisplace,” he says, handing Jane back her paper, which she now wishes to burn. Immediately. With her under it.

Natasha walks over to him, traces a finger up from just below his belly button to his throat, which makes the muscles in his stomach jump, and closes her hand around his throat. She squeezes. His face reddens a little, but despite the fact his lover appears to be strangling him to death, he doesn’t seem to mind. She leans in close to his ear and whispers something Jane is very glad she cannot hear, because Hawkeye cuts his eyes at Natasha and makes an inarticulate noise in his throat that also doesn’t sound distressed. Natasha takes her hand away, slowly, and he coughs a little.

“Ah…sorry Jane. I sent the big guy a link to this place last week. He was in the gym with me and he…Hm…wanted to know why our realm didn’t possess any quality scourge-makers. This is…apparently…an honored profession on Asgard, which I really want to visit someday, by the way, and he couldn’t understand why we didn’t have them here. Um. Hem. So…I told him that we do, but none of the…er…quality ones….were for sale in stores.”

Jane covers her face with her hands. Oh could the man not fucking JUST KILL HER NOW?

“Looks like it took him a few days to figure out how to open his email,” observes Clint. “The postmark on this is just day before yesterday.”

“He’s taking lessons,” says Natasha absently, watching Jane in fascination as Jane tries to melt into the carpet.

“In kinky sex?” asks Barton, clearly intrigued.

“Hm. You’ll have to ask Jane about that one. No, I mean in earth culture. I’ve helped out a few times.”

Clint looks at Jane interestedly.

“No,” cries Jane defensively. “I haven’t taught him anything! Stop looking at me like that! Apparently Asgardians are just perverted freaks naturally. Or maybe it’s just demigods. You’re a horrible man, Clint Barton! Why would you send him something like that?”

“Well….he asked,” says Barton, who is clearly still considering the possibility of an entire planet populated with sexual deviants. “I didn’t know what he wanted it for. I thought maybe he wanted to have one on hand in case his freak show brother with the father issues ever comes back!”

“Yes!” cries Jane in despair, throwing her hands up in the air. She turns on her heel and stomps out of the room. “That’s EXACTLY what he wants it for!” She decides she is never never never setting foot inside Clint or Natasha’s rooms again. Not even if the building is on fire and they’re trapped inside. She has, in ten minutes, learned more about their relationship than she ever wanted to know. And, apparently, they have learned a great deal about hers, which she hopes she is able to block from her mind and never remember, or she will never be able to look either of them in the eye. Tongue like a lizard, my ass, she thinks grumpily. The man has a mind like a sewer.

She considers going back to Thor’s suite, packing up all her stuff, and getting someone to take her to Stark tower, where she is officially employed and in which an apartment belonging to her supposedly exists. She’s never set foot in it. Thor’s bed has enough room for the entire Giants’ defensive line, and when she suggested ONE TIME that she could go sleep there now and then, to give him some alone time, he’d shoved her up against a wall and when he finally took his tongue out of her mouth long enough to string together a sentence, he pressed his hips up against her and demanded to know if it FELT like he wanted her to leave. It hadn’t. So because of what her conversation (if one could call it that, and she doesn’t, she calls it her most mortifying experience ever, worse than the dressing room…post orgasm, of course. That part wasn’t mortifying…) revealed about her boyfriend’s internet activities, she’s wondering if she wouldn’t be better off…not learning anything more. But though she is horribly embarrassed, she’s still not a coward, and well...shit. Now she wants to know what was in the damn box! She uses one of the public terminals, the same kind she used to determine that Natasha hadn’t been in one of the public areas, has it scan for Thor, and discovers that he IS in one of the public areas. He’s in one of the multiple combat training rooms.

So she just goes and asks him.

Well, that’s the plan anyway. She does make it to the training room. Thor is indeed there, which puts her one step closer to her plan. He is working with a sparring dummy, which has its back to him. This strikes her as a little odd, unless he’s decided to start killing people who are running away from him. Or SHIELD has learned of a new race of aliens who are threatening earth and have their asses in front. Or their heads on backwards. Asses in front sounds funnier, she decides. Whereupon her brain ceases abruptly to function.

Thor is shirtless, a state which always causes Jane’s IQ to drop about 40 points. This still leaves her plenty smart most of the time. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him work out though. Dear fucking god, he’s like acres and acres of sin. Mine, she thinks, all mine. He’s breathtaking. He has his hair tied carelessly back out of his face with a leather thong. The muscles in his back and arms shift and bunch, stretch and flex. His hands are a blur as he spins two weapons at the same time. He looks deadly and magnificent. She’s never seen him fight with anything except Mjolnir and his own fists and feet. There is a surprising grace in his big body. His motions are almost like a dance. A deadly one, but beautiful anyway. She’s reminded again forcefully of a lion. The weapons hum in the air, and he spins them effortlessly, pummeling the dummy in front of him. They beat out a staccato pattern on its neoprene shell. It sounds like drums, primal and primitive and exotic. She watches with her mouth open, unable to tear her eyes from him or make a sound. She forgets to even breathe, he is so fucking lovely. He switches the spinning weapons between his hands, never missing a beat and never slowing. She wonders what they are. Some kind of nunchaku-type thing perhaps, or something like flails.

Or not.

His arms slow, his wrists backing off their frenzied pace, and the blur lessens. He crosses his arms over his chest and the weapons cross behind him, impacting his back with a _thwack._ Their impact causes an immediate flush of red to grace his bronzed flesh, and his head jolts backwards, almost imperceptibly, before he drops it forward, panting with exertion. His hands drop to his sides, the devices trailing the floor. They’re not weapons at all.

They’re floggers, their handles are of braided leather in a diamond pattern, with beautiful braided knots at the ends and bases of the handles. They are beautifully tanned in chocolate and buff browns, which suits her lover a lot better than some exotic dye job in red and black or blue. Thor’s body, his mind and spirit are so tuned in to the world around him. She wonders vaguely why the hell she’s standing there approving of his color choices in FUCKING WHIPS. _But they’re pretty,_ whispers a voice in her head. She supposes they are. They look well-made and the leather looks soft as butter.

He swings them again, but lazily, not aiming at anything, apparently just doing it for the enjoyment of how they feel. He turns casually towards the door. His body stiffens as he becomes aware he’s being watched. This surprises her, as she has never been able to sneak up on him before. When she sees the look in his eyes, she understands. Understanding brings no comfort. He is only peripherally present in the hot gaze that sweeps her body. There is none of his gentleness in that look, none of his generosity and humor and childish exuberance. This is Thor at his most basic, his most elemental and animal. He sublimates the part of him that relishes violence and conquest most of the time. Even when he ruthlessly drags screams from her body, his eyes shine with tenderness along with the fierce pleasure he takes in…well, _taking_ her. She knows it is his astonishing capacity for tender brutality that has so utterly conquered her heart. That he can hold both in his big hands and his even bigger heart simply sweeps her away. The man who stares penetratingly at her from under lowered brows, his chest heaving, sweat trickling down his burning skin…this man is so solidly and utterly feral that she feels a tiny kernel of fear in her belly. The kernel is nearly drowned in the rush of arousal she feels. Sex pheromones are simply POURING off him in waves that make her dizzy.  He raises his head and sniffs the air, solidifying her impression of an enormous cat. His pupils are tiny pinpricks, his eyes drowningly blue. She feels like a bunny rabbit under the paws of a predator. A low growl trickles from his lips.

“Jane,” he rumbles, lifting one index finger from the handle of one of the whips and crooking it at her. “Come. Here.”

She takes an involuntary step backwards, turning towards the open doorway. Before she can take a single step, the door slams shut in her face, his hand holding it in place, his arm barring her way. She gives a tiny girly scream of startlement and fear.

“Don’t run, Jane,” he snarls, and she feels his breath hot on the back of her neck. “It would make it sweeter for me.” He leans in close, and she feels his teeth close on the big muscle in her shoulder where it meets her neck. He bites her. She whimpers, and feels more than she hears his snarl of pleasure in her flesh. He opens his mouth, licks the place he’s bitten, purrs, “But worse for you.” Her pulse races and she feels her breath catch in her throat. Jesus. Confronted with Thor stripped down to nothing but need, she is frozen with awe and terror. Her legs are shaking. He runs his hands slowly down her arms to her hands, tangling his fingers in hers. He clasps them tightly. At this moment, she knows her faith in him is well placed. Were he truly lost to himself, he would crush the bones of her hands. Were his passion ruling him utterly, were he no more than the mindless beast he appears, his power would be unchecked. His hands hold hers in a vice, and she has no doubt she will never escape his grasp, but he causes no pain as he raises her hands above her head, holds her prisoner against the door. He gathers both her wrists in one hand. They feel ridiculously small. The terror is gone now, and yet she still feels fear. It is now fear of the unknown, and a little bit fear of being consumed by him. His passion is so great, she sometimes wonders if she will not be swallowed up by it entirely. His hand fists in the back of her shirt. Fuck, she doesn’t care. If she’s consumed, she will have lived more in a few short weeks with him then ten people live in their lifetimes. She closes her eyes. He yanks, and her body jerks when the fabric of her shirt gives up the ghost and shreds in his hand. She’s learnt to wear only shoes she can kick her feet out of easily since he came back into her life, and does so now, because his hand thumbs open the button on her soft cotton capris, then his fingers slide down her belly, forcing the zipper wide as he thrusts it between her legs and presses his palm against her, where her body weeps and drools for him. The rumble in his chest is all male satisfaction. Her pants seem to vanish like the sigh that drifts from her mouth. It get easier to surrender to him every time. He never asks, he just conquers. Vanquishes. Overwhelms. Ravishes. God help her, but she wants it. His first foray into internet shopping scares the bejeebers out of her, and yet her body yearns for…anything. Whatever he chooses to give her, or to take from her. The voice of reason in her head tries to tell her this is self-destructive behavior and that she is a fool to give a man this much power over her. She whispers his name as she tells the voice to take a flying fucking leap. Even as he takes, he gives. Even as he devours, he feeds her soul. Even as he consumes her, he fills her. He takes nothing without giving in return. He repays her body’s aches with joy she cannot measure. He strips her naked, potent sounds of base need throbbing in his throat as his hand holds her captive so effortlessly. Something primal in her answers and she bucks against his hold on her, twisting to try to turn towards him. She knows not whether she would escape and force him to chase her down, or whether she wishes to savage his body as she knows he’s prepared to do with hers. He snarls warningly at her, and she yelps when he abruptly lets go of her wrists, grabbing her suddenly by the hair. He wraps his fist in her hair, tugs her head back, whispers in her ear again.

“Will you scream for me, Jane? When your body dances for the lash, will you scream? And will it be for mercy….or for more?”

Oh just fuck. How? How does he do this every time? How can he bring her so close to just coming and coming with only the sound of his wicked voice? She moans softly as he drags her across the room. The sparring dummy is fastened to a sturdy overhead bar with O-rings and quick-release snaps. He uses the hand not fisted in her hair to unfasten the snaps. He hurls it away. She hears it splat into the wall twenty feet away like he’s tried to hurl it THROUGH the wall. He shoves her face-first against the backboard and leans against her. She shivers.

“Jane…” he purrs. “You’re going to stand here for me, just like this, like a good girl. Aren’t you?”

“Ah…and if I don’t?” she gasps. Good lord, it’s official. She’s lost her fucking mind.

“If you don’t,” he breathes in her ear, “then they will hear you in Stark tower when you scream.”

He lets go, leaves the choice up to her. Like she’s even capable of movement. He’s back in moments, and she feels the smooth leather of the restraints she used on him slide around her wrists. He backs her up a couple of steps, until she is underneath the overhanging arm of the stand. He hauls her hands over her head, secures them to the ring with a click. She tugs experimentally, because she can’t help it, and knows she cannot escape.  

She hears the blur of sound as he begins to twirl the flogger. The fear returns. She has no idea what to expect. This is very very far outside her range of experience. She doesn’t know how much it’s going to hurt. She doesn’t know if it will cut her flesh or leave bruises. The sound of it, the low burring hum of sound as he twirls it, is terrifying only for its unknown quality. She feels the breeze it generates on her back before it makes contact, and she holds her breath. The very tips of the falls brush her skin, almost like a caress. They leave heat in their wake, but no pain. He skims her body with those soft leather tips from the stop of her shoulders to the backs of her knees. It is something like a caress, something like a massage, something like having her skin burnished with very fine-grit sandpaper. To her very great surprise, she finds that she is whimpering in her throat. It is not pain or terror or denial that pulls the sounds from her. It is need. Frustration. It isn’t enough. She’s shocked at her reaction. The same teasing caress skims back up her body. She squirms a bit. She can’t help herself. God, it’s fucking maddening. Will the man not just GET ON WITH IT? He spins her abruptly to face him. She gasps. The sight of that whirlwind of leather catches her breath in her throat. She stares at him in fascination as he brings it towards her body. His touch with it is so light. His concentration is so utter, she trembles at being the focus of it. Again the very tips of the falls brush her skin, whispering over her breasts, her belly, her thighs, tickling at her pubic hair. Using his foot, he kicks her feet apart as far as they can go and not unbalance her. It isn’t very far, but is enough for the falls to spin widdershins now and brush her pussy with heat. She cries out at the sensation. Still not pain, but more intense there, oh yes. He lets the flogger stop spinning, takes one big step forward and leans down to kiss her deeply. She whines into his mouth when he sucks on her tongue and nips her with his teeth.

“You were made for this, Jane,” he says hoarsely. “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, ever.”

“Thor,” she gasps. “Please!”

“Have no fear, my heart. Now you beg for more. I shall not stop until I hear you beg for…mercy.”

He steps back, and the flogger spins again. He hasn’t picked up the second one yet. He turns her back around so he’s behind her again. She feels the breeze of its approach, only this time he snaps his wrist and the falls splat against her shoulders with a sound startling enough to make her jerk. It’s mostly surprise though. He has used only the last few inches of the falls. There is some sting, and a sense of being shoved slightly forward, but he’s hurt her much worse in loving her. This is nothing. No, she corrects her assessment. This is heady, intoxicating, alarming, and strange. She has no idea who this woman is, and where this strange longing she feels has come from, but she answers this unspoken tongue their bodies know, and she craves. Shoulders to thighs and back again, he uses the ends of the falls to sting her lightly. He takes care to avoid the area around her kidneys. The whip kisses a little harder on her ass than elsewhere.

She loses count of how many times he makes his way up and back. Time for her has become irrelevant. She falls into a strange kind of lassitude, lulled by the rhythmic thud and whispering sting of the flogger, and the beat of her blood in her head, and the scent of him and the smoky warm smell of the leather. When he steps up the intensity of the flogging, she is ready, and she moans. There is some pain now, a solid thudding smack that in itself does not hurt but rather simply shocks her with its force, followed by a sting like prickles of heat. Insomuch as she is capable of rational thought, she’s glad he does not turn her to face him now. She thinks this pace would be too much for her more sensitive bits.

He ramps up the power and the pain slowly, so that her body absorbs and adjusts to it with each step. She knows the sting grows fiercer, and yet he has led her so skillfully though each step of this dance of pain and pleasure that she does not drown in it. She soars. Her need for him pounds in her blood. She cries out in sensation and helpless yearning with each stroke. Every inch of her skin feels stretched tight and throbs with her pulse. He uses both floggers now, a furious and breathtaking Florentine pattern that does not give her time to catch her breath. Her brain is a haze of pain and need. The pain is overwhelming, and yet not in a way that is not bearable, but rather in a way that is in her thoughts a mindless plea she doesn’t even understand.

“Thor!” she gasps. Then screams. “PLEASE!”

“What would you beg of me, Jane? To let you go? Never. Beg for what you truly want, Jane. Tell me.”

The flogger CRACKS across her bottom from one side, then is mirrored by the other. She cries out for him, aware than tears course down her cheeks. She does not remember when she started to cry.

“Pl.. _uhhhh_ ….please. I cuh…can’t stand it anymore. Please. Please stop. I… _ahh…._ I need…I need….”

“What do you need, Jane?” he hisses, and the whips crash against her flesh like the tide, relentless and consuming.

“I nuh…need….I…. _oh_ …need….THOR,” she finally shrieks, and doesn’t care who hears, “PLEASE GOD, PLEASE FUCK ME!!!”

An inhuman snarl is torn from his throat as he hurls the floggers to the floor. He turns her roughly to face him, picks her up like she weighs nothing.

“Hold on,” he mutters as he grasps her by her thighs, forcing her legs open wide and stepping between them. As he lifts her, her fingers encircle the overhanging pole and hang on for dear life. He situates her legs around his waist and spears her with his cock so deeply she thinks she may choke on it. She has no recollection of when he unfastened his pants. She’s peripherally aware she may be quite delirious as she finds it credible that his pants are magic too. Like his hammer.

As though obliging her train of thought, the hammer in question proceeds to piston into her flesh like he will drive her body into next week. He wrenches inhuman sounds from her throat as he stretches and fills her almost beyond what she can bear. The line between pleasure and pain blurs into nothingness. He has never fucked her this hard, as though by the sheer power of his body he would tear away all that she is. She knows she is screaming, begging him for mercy, that she sobs helplessly as he batters into her like a siege engine. She knows also that her legs hold him as tightly as she can, and that she uses her grip on the pole above her to help him lift and lower her body onto his punishing cock. He buries his face in her throat and groans her name, along with words in Old Norse he has told her mean “Mine,” and “Forever.” Claws twist inside her belly, which quivers, and she feels an almost atavistic fear as her orgasm uncoils inside her. She does not know if she will survive it or be dashed to pieces on the rocks of her own overwhelming need. She screams his name, because if he does not stay with her now, she fears she will lose herself. Dimly, she feels his breathing falter and begin to hitch. His fingers dig into her thighs so hard she thinks he may leave dents. He captures her mouth with his and she shrieks into his mouth while she shatters around him, and he roars back, the sound and vibration pouring down her throat and into her body. It fills her, wrecks her, blinds and deafens her. He does not leave her alone. He goes with her into oblivion.

When tiny bits of awareness creep back in, he slowly and carefully eases from her body, letting her legs fall to the ground. He holds on until he sees she is at least somewhat able to support herself. He lets go long enough to unfasten her wrists from the ring. He picks her up again, and carries her to a pile of exercise mats along one wall. He sits, and places her on his lap so he can hold her shaking body against him. Jane experiences the teeth-rattling tremors of coming down from an endorphin high for the first time in her life, while he gently rocks and soothes her through it, and she comes quietly to pieces in his arms, weeping and shivering. He kisses away her tears, touches her burning, aching body gently, as though she were made of something precious. There is no impatience in him, and she feels as though he would sit here just like this, with her in his lap and his powerful arms sheltering her body, for days if she needed him to. At length though, she is able to sit up, and look at him from under her eyelashes, a little bit mortified.

“Do not be embarrassed, Jane. There is nothing wrong with you, that you liked what we have just done. In truth, would the artisans of your world continue to make such items were there not many who desired them?”

This is so surprisingly logical that she completely forgets to be mortified. Of course he’s right! She recalls the company description on the website from where he acquired the floggers. They’ve been in business for more than twenty years!

“Hawkeye told me he sent you the link,” she admits. He chuckles.

“You will not be angry with him, I trust?” he asks, a little bit anxiously. “I did ask for his help.”

Jane thinks about this. With the warmth from the whipping and the warmth of his arms still flushing her with heat, she is even able to concede that she might be glad he had.

“Remind me to thank him,” she says dreamily. Thor laughs.

Hawkeye is startled and a bit nonplussed when he goes to his usual table in the eatery the next morning and discovers an enormous vase of yellow roses. There is a card. Feeling self-conscious and kind of weird, he opens it.

“If you’re very, very nice to me, I’ll ask him to let you borrow them,

J.”


	5. A Heated Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jane makes a huge mistake and almost gets herself and Captain America killed, everything really sucks for a little while, but she figures out a way to fix things in the end.

There is exactly one thing Jane hates about living with Thor and the rest of the Avengers, and the work she does between Stark Tower and SHIELD Headquarters. The company is excellent. The sex is mind-blowing. The friendship definitely does not suck. Against anything she could ever have predicted, Natasha has become someone she considers very special. She gets to work with her beloved mentor and father figure, and Bruce has rapidly grown to be someone she values for his companionship and wit as well as his devastatingly brilliant mind. She does still wish she could somehow make him happier, but she knows that’s beyond her scope. The work is exciting. The technology available to her makes her mind boggle on a regular basis. If Tony doesn’t have a tool or computer program or instrument to perform a needed function, he invents one. Coulson has even gone behind Fury’s back and let her bring Darcy in as an assistant recently, which is awesome. It’s made all the more awesome by the fact that Darcy drives Fury completely batshit. Everybody else adores her for this fact alone, even if she isn’t a superhero or a genius of any kind. Tony likes her, she makes Steve smile and agrees to watch old movies with him when he’s lonely, Natasha seems to find her amusing, Clint treats her like the little sister he never had. Bruce seems baffled by her, but he doesn’t complain. So, except for one thing, Jane’s life is completely amazing.

“Avengers! Assemble!”

There it is. The voice comes over the comm system. Bruce’s shoulders slump. He has gotten better and better at controlling the Hulk’s violent impulses, but every time he’s required to manifest the green guy, he’s afraid. Still, he gets up and leaves the lab at a run, shedding his lab coat as he goes. She doesn’t know where Thor is, or any of the others. Whatever this new danger is, they will all leave to face it without saying goodbye.

This is the one thing she hates.

Darcy and Erik have left, gone out on a Chinese food run. They’ll be back soon, but it means that for now she’s left alone in the lab with her terror. She never knows if they’re going to come back. Thor is well-nigh indestructible. She knows this intellectually, and yet she is also unable to really believe it. She cannot bear the thought that every time he goes out with his team, it may be the time someone discovers something that can kill him.  The staying behind and waiting is unbearable. But what choice does she have? She can no more ask him to stop being what he is than she can ask the sun to stop rising and setting. She loves a hero. If the day does come that some foe wields a weapon able to bring him down, he will hurl himself without a second thought into certain death, battle it until he can battle no more, and then meet death as a friend and have no regrets. She is stupidly proud of him, proud to be with him. The man he is sets in motion a resonance in her soul that has filled her from her toes to the roots of her hair with a thrumming energy which makes her feel that she had never lived until he came. Her work shares his purpose, and she strives to understand the terrifying alien technologies they will soon face. If the Chitauri came, others will eventually follow. But oh, she cannot bear the thought of losing him again. She has seen his face still with death, when she only wanted him, and wished to know him better, to have a chance to see what it was between them. The sight was almost more than she could bear, even then. She doesn’t think she’d survive it a second time.

She asked him once, to take her with him when they went on a call. He had taken her by her arms, and looked urgently into her eyes.

“You must not, Jane,” he’d said fiercely. “My thoughts when we do battle for the safety of Midgard must be only on the fight, and the protection of my brothers. If I had to concern myself also with your safety, I would be distracted, and that could have disastrous results. Would you risk us all, just to satisfy yourself?” When he put it that way, it made her feel stupid for asking. Still, she cannot help wishing, feeling that somehow if she were with him, she could keep him safe, as ridiculous as that sounds.

She can’t stand to stay in the lab, so she makes her way to the Operations center to see if anyone there can tell her anything. Agent Hill is there, overseeing the command center. She smiles distractedly at Jane, but takes a moment to brief her. Maria is a dedicated agent, but she is also a woman. She sees the fear in Jane’s eyes and understands. So she makes time.

“A cell of Chitauri who escaped the initial battle has been discovered in the waterfront district. Director Fury and Agent Coulson are observing aerially. It’s a good-sized cell from the reports we have, but the six of them should be able to handle it. They’ve handled worse. Don’t worry, Dr. Foster, they’ll be fine. We have two squads ready if they run into anything unexpected, which I don’t foresee. Now please, let me get back to work.”

Jane thanks her, and stands up against a wall for a while, making herself as unobtrusive as possible. There’s so much going on that she can’t really make sense of it. Various technicians are monitoring things like police radios, readouts from Iron Man’s suit as reported to them by JARVIS, weather conditions, shipping traffic on the wharfs in the warehouse district, and a huge number of other things that don’t make sense to her at all. It only makes her more tense, because it’s so chaotic to her mind that her inner turmoil ramps up until she thinks she may just slide to the floor and start to cry. She slips out, and goes to the rooms they share. She thinks maybe she’ll just get raging drunk on some of Thor’s mead, which should take about two swallows, and pass out until he comes back safe and whole, as, to be honest, he always has.

She’s belted back one healthy swig of the stuff, which fills her mouth with an explosion of sweet honey and flowers, and her throat and belly with fire. She’s gasping, and feeling it go straight to her head, when she notices his helmet sitting forgotten on the coffee table. Oh god, he’s gone off to fight without it. Her stress, and her worry, and the heady fumes of the potent drink, combine to make her forget that he flies off without it all the time. All she can think is that here is something she can do to help him! She’s gotten enough out of the barrage of confusing reports in the Operations center to know where they’re going. Well, where they already are probably. Fighting bloodthirsty aliens. Without proper head protection! Stupid careless barbarian! What the fuck was he thinking? Certainly not about taking care of himself so he’d be able to come home safe to her. Thinks his stupid hard head is fucking bullet-proof. It’s certainly made of rock, that’s for sure. She seizes the helmet and storms out, takes the nearest elevator to the basement garage. Everyone in the building is focused on the op going on right now, so nobody notices her or pays attention. She shamelessly appropriates one of the SHIELD’s black sedans and floors it out of there. New York traffic is always a pain in the ass, but Jane’s on a mission. She wishes this fucking car had a siren, but she turns on the dashboard roller light and the wig wags in the grill and snakes through traffic like a ferret. The black sedan is muscular and powerful, but it handles well too. And pedestrians dive out of her way shouting curses or screaming. She ignores them. None of them would even be here if it weren’t for Thor and the rest of the team (even though she’s not thinking about any of the rest of them right now). They can just deal with a few skinned knees and sprained ankles.

As she approaches the waterfront warehouse district, it’s obvious where the battle is taking place. Traffic is at a standstill as people stop their cars to gawk. She abandons the sedan and starts pushing through the gathering crowd, clutching the helmet to her chest. Black smoke billows up from two of the warehouses. She sees Iron Man shoot into the sky with a flailing alien in his arms. He rises to a point where she can barely see him anymore and then drops the Chitauri into the Hudson River. It hits the water with a terrific splash and does not resurface. Chitauri, apparently, do not swim. From somewhere on the other side of the buildings, she sees a truck fly into the air almost gracefully, then crash back to the ground. The warehouse blocks her view and she doesn’t see where it falls. Bruce’s work probably. Lightning spears from the sky and lances to the ground with a terrific crack. People scream, but Jane laughs wildly in relief. He’s still okay. She knocks someone down in her urgency, apologizes absently, and keeps shoving. Once clear, she sprints for the site of the fighting. Dimly, she hears someone shouting at her to come back, but she pays no attention. She can do this for him, get his helmet to him so he’ll be, at least a little, safer. She eases along the long side of one of the warehouses, the sound of otherworldly shrieks and screeching is deafening, as are the explosions and gunfire and the crashing of bodies and metal and who knows what else. She feels heat from the wall of the building she hugs, and knows something inside it is on fire. Hurrying now, she darts to the corner of the building and around it…

She skids to a halt and finds herself in the center of hell.

Two cars, several trucks, and half a dozen forklifts lie scattered about the pavement as though a particularly careless and destructive child has had a temper tantrum and refused to pick up its toys. She can smell gasoline, diesel fuel, and spilled oil. Some of it burns, scattered small fires that dot the violent scene around her. A dead Chitauri lies almost at her feet, its corpse blackened and smoking. What she thinks are brains ooze from its strangely shaped skull and look a little like jellied cottage cheese on the black asphalt. Well, if cottage cheese were green. There’s a greenish, yellowish scaly arm draped over a barrel to her left. It doesn’t appear to be attached to anything. There’s another explosion nearby and Jane looks up and to her right, sees Hawkeye perched on top of a shipping container, firing explosive arrows. There’s a bloody smear on the side of his face, and his hair looks wet and matted on one side. Black Widow is crouched at his back, facing the other way, firing two pistols at the same time. There’s a tear in her suit, exposing a bloody scratch down her left thigh. AS Jane glances at the two of them, Widow drops both magazines to the roof of the container and reloads smoothly from the belt of extra mags at her waist. She hears and feels the concussion from a blast from Iron Man’s propulsion jets, and a big scaly body that somehow seems to have too many limbs goes flying between two other containers, one of which is lying on its side with the doors hanging open. Dimly, she’s aware of someone roaring, and turns to see the Hulk seize two Chitauri in his passive paws and slam their heads together. Even over the noise, Jane is sure she hears them crunch. Captain America’s shield whizzes past and lands with a sickening thunk in the gut of another Chitauri that is in the process of getting ready to leap atop the container where Hawkeye and the Black Widow perch. It utters a strangled cry that sounds something like a vulture’s scream and something like cats mating, and falls to the ground. Jane looks around wildly. She doesn’t see Thor, in the air or on the ground. Panic clutches at her throat. Then he sprints out from the dark open doorway of one of the warehouses, Mjolnir cocked back over his shoulder. He’s shouting something. The mighty hammer swings through the air, a whistle of sound and a blur of silvery-grey, and another alien invader flies through the air to soar over the containers and into the river. Thor’s face and arms are blackened with soot and grease. There are dozens of miniscule cuts on his arms, and one above his eyebrow which bleeds sluggishly down his face. It’s obviously already healing, but Jane has a moment of wanting to yell at him in rage, because it wouldn’t have happened in the first place if he’d been wearing his FUCKING HELMET!

“THOR!” She shrieks his name at the top of her lungs, almost feels something tear in her throat in her effort to get his attention. It works. Six heads snap around to stare in her direction. Then everything seems to happen in slow motion, as she has plenty of time to observe every terrible thing that occurs. Vaguely, she’s aware that isn’t really true, it just seems so.

She hears Hawkeye, Black Widow, Captain America and Thor all shouting for her to get back, to get out of the way, to hide.

A Chitauri becomes aware of their focus on her and charges towards her, its gaping maw filled with what seem to be thousands of glittering sharp teeth, its claws outstretched towards her and quivering with eagerness. She screams. She is rooted to the spot and cannot run.

Hawkeye and Natasha aim their weapons but Jane is in the way and neither of them have a clear shot. She hears them, as if from a great distance, shouting something at her that sounds like “Get down!” but her brain is unable to process it.

An enormous green monster bounds over a container and shoves another out of its path, heading towards the alien, but she doesn’t think he can reach it in time. For his incredible size, Hulk’s surprisingly fast, but the invader is too close.

A blast from Iron Man’s repulsor slams into the pavement, and bits of gravel fly up. One hits her cheek and she feels the burn as it cuts her, the warm trickle of blood that feels like tears sliding down her cheek. It misses the Chitauri warrior, which keeps coming.

Thor roars her name in horror and negation, hurling himself into the air and towards them. He’s faster than the Hulk, but it takes a few seconds for him to reach full speed, and those are seconds she doesn’t have.

A large body skids to a halt beside her, shouldering her to one side, and she staggers a little. Captain America hurls his shield at the Chitauri, using his own body to block hers. She’s never been so glad to see anyone in her life. The shield shears off one of the alien’s hands like soft cheese. It utters a hideous screech but keeps coming. Unfortunately, it apparently still has three more perfectly good hands, all eager to tear into her tender flesh and rend the Captain limb from limb.

Now they both stand between Hawkeye and Black Widow and their target. Neither spy has a shot that won’t endanger Jane or Steve. Iron Man is occupied chasing down another Chitauri who is attempting to flee on its air cycle. She sees Thor, beyond the creature, flying towards them as fast as he can. Out of the corner of her eye she notices there is another Chitauri bearing down on them. Thor stops, his blue eyes frantic as he realizes he now has to choose. Mjolnir spins and the clouds overhead roil as the energies he generates gather.  She covers her face with her hands. The lightning bolt takes out the creature as it’s about to sink its claws into her. She both feels and sees the other Chitauri slam into Captain America, bearing them both to the ground. Someone screams. She feels sick when she realizes the scream sounds human, and male, and agonized.  Thor drags the alien off the Captain by its foot and shoots skyward with it dangling.

A roar of rage ruffles her hair and she turns, in slow motion, to look up at the massive bulk of the Hulk, standing over her. He is covered in blood and soot and gore, and there is nothing remotely sane in his eyes.

“Bruce,” she whispers, hopelessly.

He roars again, and inanely she thinks she can still smell the Colgate cinnamon toothpaste Bruce used this morning on the Hulk’s breath. He’s visibly trembling, and she’s aware that it is with the effort it costs him not to hurl her into outer space or rip her in half. She’s also aware he could do either.

“Bruce, please,” she begs.

Almost casually, he sweeps out his massive arm and swats her away. She is airborne for only a moment, then tumbling bonelessly across the asphalt. She ends up crumpled against the container guarded by Hawkeye and Natasha. Every inch of her hurts. She moans softly. Strong hands grasp her arms and yank her, not very gently, onto the roof of the container. Natasha steadies her a little as Clint lets go and curtly orders her to stay down and out of the way.  She collapses onto the metal roof. She’s lost the helmet somewhere.

She peers through a curtain of her hair from where she lays, and sees Hulk tearing pieces off the last of the Chitauri. Thor has gathered the Captain into his arms and is carrying him almost tenderly to where one of the big helijets has landed, and handing him carefully inside it, where Agent Coulson and Director Fury guide his motionless body onto one of the back seats. Jane whimpers.

As the smoke clears, two big mobilization units wheel in to take care of cleanup. A SHIELD paramedic is cleaning the cut on Hawkeye’s head. The Hulk has disappeared, leaping off to wherever he goes to get himself under control enough to change back into himself. Tony is talking to a couple of the agents, his helmet peeled back to reveal his sweaty face. Natasha stands near Hawkeye and pretends not to be watching anxiously. She sees Jane looking, and turns her back. Jane sits up and pushes her hair out of her face. She’s looking around for a way to climb down from the container when Thor lands next to her. His face is expressionless.

“Will he be all right?” she whispers. “Steve?”

“I know not. The creature’s claws penetrated his armor. He took a belly wound. It looked deep. I understand, however, that your doctors here can work wonders. I am not certain, but I hope he will live.”

She sighs, a deep shuddering breath, and starts to shake. He leans down and picks her up in his arms. She lays her head on his shoulder and starts to cry. He tightens his arms and she feels his body trembling. 

“Goddess! Oh Jane, I thought I had lost you,” he says. His voice is hoarse with strain.

“I’m so sorry,” she cries. He hugs her even tighter, which makes her squeak a little when she feels her lungs threaten to collapse. He eases up a bit.

“Hush now, my love,” he says into her hair. “I forgive you. You’re safe now. We’ll save the rest for later.”

With that rather ominous-sounding proclamation, he flies them both gently to the ground and they get into one of the huge SHIELD mobile command centers with everyone else. Bruce hasn’t returned yet. Nobody mentions waiting for him, so Jane assumes this is normal. No one looks at her. She feels about two inches tall as they are driven back to headquarters in stony silence. It’s the most horrible ride of her life, and it doesn’t make it any better that she knows they have every right to be angry with her. Steve is hurt because she was stupid. When the truck pulls to a stop inside the parking level, she clears her throat a little. Natasha is the only one who looks at her.

“I…I just want to say I’m really sorry for what I did. I put everyone in danger. It’ll never happen again. I hope you all can forgive me.”

Nobody responds, they just file out silently and go their separate ways, leaving her alone and feeling dumber than ever. Thor takes her hand and leads her to their rooms. He’s very quiet, his face solemn, and she can tell he’s thinking hard. She goes to the kitchen and makes him coffee while he showers and changes into regular clothing. He comes out, the smell of shampoo and soap and clean skin making her shiver, and sits on the couch, still not speaking, and accepts the mug with a nod.

“Thor,” she cries desperately when the silence becomes unbearable. “Please, tell me you can forgive me!”

He looks up at her in surprise, the drink partway to his lips.

“Forgive you? I said I did,” he says, looking a little confused.

“You aren’t acting like it!” she says hotly. He frowns.

“I do forgive you, my heart. I believe I shall love you until your sun falls into the sea, and that is a less idle threat from one such as me than it would be for a mortal man. I can refuse you nothing. You ask for my forgiveness, and you have it.”

“Oh thank God,” she says fervently, and sits beside him. He puts the mug down on an end table and takes her hand.

“Forgiveness is one thing, Jane,” he says broodingly. “Forgetting is another. And…penance…yet another.”

Her stomach starts to feel strange.

“What…um…what do you mean?” she asks nervously.

“It is not only me who you hurt today, Jane. You saw how it was with the others on the way back here just now.”

“They’re very angry,” she whispers.

“Are they wrong to be?” he asks gently. She shakes her head. They’re not wrong.

“Your actions today endangered everyone. You have a very great deal to make up for, as far as the team is concerned. I am afraid an apology may not suffice. It is ever thus with warriors in my realm as well. When one’s actions endanger the lives of others, he must suffer consequences before he is forgiven.”

This sounds ominous, and Jane begins to feel a little bit like she may throw up.

“Ah…what kind of consequences?”

His lips twitch a little, as though he wants to smile.

“Hm. Well, perhaps Asgardian consequences might be a bit too severe in this case. His shield brothers may beat him with their fists until he loses consciousness. Or he may be flogged with a whip of knotted rawhide which has bits of metal braided in, until he bleeds freely all over his back.”

She makes a strangled sound of horror.

“That’s barbaric!” she exclaims.

“Is it? Should he be executed for treason instead, or be treated as an outcast for the rest of his life and lose all the brothers he holds dear, for one moment of indiscretion? Our ways are not yours, Jane. Our men are warriors, not scholars or accountants or teachers, at least not until we grow too old to do battle. A bit of pain is nothing compared to other prices he might pay, compared to what he would lose instead.”

“Well, when you put it that way, it almost sounds reasonable.”

“I think it is, and so have the men I have known in my life who have suffered those consequences. When I was a boy, I knew of a warrior who refused his just punishment. He was never trusted by any man again. He lost all his friends, and his woman left him, taking his children with her, because she could not bear the shame. He was believed to be a coward and a traitor. He finally left Asgard and was never heard of again. Not long after, a friend of our family’s made a mistake during a battle with some dark elves that caused another of his company to be gravely wounded. He accepted the punishment for his carelessness with dignity, and was seen later that same night in a tavern with all his companions, being bought as much mead as he could consume, to drown the pain of his beating. They thought him brave to have accepted responsibility for his actions.”

She nods slowly.

“Okay, maybe it’s not such a bad way for your people then. Things don’t work that way on Earth though. So how do I accept responsibility for being a moron and make it up to everybody?”

He sighs heavily and lets go of her hand, patting it as he stands up. He squares his shoulders and swallows hard, as though preparing himself for something he dreads.  His hands go to his belt buckle and unfasten it slowly. Her eyes widen in horror. Oh no he isn’t.

“I…gods help me Jane, go to the bedroom and take down your pants. Bend over the edge of the bed and await me there. I…I mean to punish you myself.” He withdraws the belt from its loops and holds it, twisting it between his hands.

She presses herself back into the cushions of the sofa and stares at him in openmouthed astonishment.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she blurts, aghast.

“Nay, I do not jest with you. Think you this is easy for me? Tis the hardest thing I have ever had to do Jane, and I have done many hard things in my life! It will clear your slate with the rest of the team, and it is the only thing I can think of which will. Do you think I _want_ to beat you?”

She leaps to her feet, glaring at him.

“Yes, I fucking DO think you want you want to, you sadistic bastard,” she yells. “What do you think I am, stupid? You get OFF on hurting me, you know you do, and now you’re trying to turn this into one more way you can get your fucking rocks off? I won’t let you beat me, Thor. I’m not yours to abuse. Fuck that, and fuck YOU!”

His head snaps back as though she has slapped him, and all the color leaches from his face. He stares at her with his mouth open for a few seconds, then he drops the belt on the floor and silently leaves the suite, shutting the door gently behind him.

She walks woodenly to the bedroom and gets out her suitcase. She has to pause every few seconds in her packing to ferociously dash the tears from her face and sniffle, but she gets her clothing packed. She sneaks from the suite and out of the building. She hails a cab and rides to Stark Tower in silence.

The apartment Tony’s been keeping for her is nice, though rather spare. She supposes he expected her to decorate it a bit on her own. There’s a picture of the desert at sunset over the queen-sized bed. This small show of thoughtfulness on Tony’s part makes her fall to pieces. She throws herself face down on the bed, and cries until she can hardly breathe. She has never felt so desolate in her life.

Fury finds her the next morning. He chews her up one side and down the other, which she deserves, and refuses to accept her resignation.

“So you’d risk the safety of the entire human race because you fucked up, Doctor?” he sneers relentlessly. She flinches. “You may think you’re not important to our work here, but you are the only goddamned person in the fucking world who has learned anything real about wormhole theory or Einstein-Rosen bridges or whatever the hell it is, and without you, our research comes to a screeching halt. Stark and Banner may be geniuses, but they’re an engineer and a nuclear physicist. You are the only one who can do what you do. Do you care so little for everybody else on this planet that you’d walk away because you made a stupid mistake? Do you think you’ve cornered the goddamn market on screwing up?” He’s well and truly pissed now, and she shrinks from him in humiliation.

“No…I…I just don’t think any of the rest of them are going to want to work with me anymore,” she falters.

“That’s too fucking bad,” he roars. “They’ll do their jobs, and I expect you to do yours too. You messed it up, you fucking FIX IT!” And he jumps to his feet and storms out, slamming the door. His exit is a lot easier to take than Thor’s.

So she reports to work the next day as ordered, and when she gets to the lab, Bruce won’t look at her. She works for a while on some calculations, and takes some readings from some simulations they’ve had running. After a while she can’t stand the strained silence.

“Bruce,” she says desperately. “I am so sorry. Please, forgive me.”

He sighs, and takes off his glasses. Cleaning them with his handkerchief, he stares sightlessly at his computer.

“I almost killed you,” he says finally. His voice is bleak.

“No! You didn’t,” she protests. “You hardly hurt me at all, just a couple scrapes and bruises!”

He shakes his head.

“You’re not listening, Dr. Foster.” This term of address rips at her heart. She has been Jane to him for a long time now. “When I say I almost killed you, I mean I almost couldn’t stop….him….from killing you. He didn’t recognize you. He wanted to kill you. He would have. It would have been easy. And I almost couldn’t stop him.”

“But you did,” she cries. He looks at her now, and his brown eyes shine with tears at the same time that they burn with anger at her.

“How do you think I would have felt,” he grinds out between his teeth, “If I had come back to myself to find I’d hurt you, or worse?”

“Bruce…” she whispers.

“HOW, Jane? HOW DO YOU THINK I’D HAVE FELT?” He roars these words out in agony, then leaps to his feet and runs from the lab. She doesn’t see him again that day. The guilt eating at her worms even deeper into her gut.

She wanders down to the eatery where she and Natasha have shared time over coffee and croissants. She gets a mug, and a pastry, and sits down at a table where she lets the coffee get cold and picks the pastry apart. After about an hour, during which she stares sightlessly out the window, the opposite chair is pulled back and Natasha slides into it. Jane looks at her in surprise.

“Steve’s going to be fine,” she says solemnly. “They repaired a perforation in his small intestine, and his healing abilities are doing the rest. He got out of the infirmary this morning.”

“Oh thank God,” sighs Jane in relief.

“I thought you’d want to know,” says Natasha tonelessly, and starts to get to her feet. Jane grabs her wrist and hangs on desperately. Natasha looks at her hand and raises an eyebrow.

“Natasha,” she begs, “what should I do?”

Natasha sighs and sits back down a little reluctantly.

“I don’t know, Jane. Everybody’s pretty pissed. There’s no way to candy coat it. Steve got hurt because of you. Thor had to choose between you and Steve. Nobody blames his choice, because despite the fact we’re all pissed, nobody wants you dead, and you would have been. What the fuck were you thinking, anyway, coming there?”

“I wanted to bring Thor his helmet,” she whispers in a tiny voice. Natasha looks at her incredulously for several heartbeats and then bursts out laughing. She laughs until she has to dab at her eyes with a napkin.

“Jesus, Jane. Fuck. The man has a skull like titanium! And you wanted to bring him his fucking _helmet_? What had you been drinking?”

“Thor’s mead,” she admits. Natasha whoops. She takes Jane’s mug and swigs some of her coffee, making a face when she realizes it’s cold.

“Ugh, that’s nasty. Thor’s mead. Well that explains it I guess. That shit could take paint off a helijet. Maybe even dissolve Cap’s shield if you left it in long enough. Wanted to bring him his helmet. Oh wow.”

“I don’t think it’s very funny,” says Jane sullenly. Natasha can be a real bitch sometimes.

“The sentiment is fucking hilarious,” argues Natasha matter-of-factly. “The consequences, not so much.”

“So what should I do?”

“Hell Jane. I don’t think flowers or chocolates are going to do the job. You made me laugh, and you’re my friend, so I seem to find myself a little more inclined to forgive you now. I can probably talk Clint around. He’s pretty agreeable when his dick’s in my mouth.” She smirks, and Jane flushes. “But the rest of them…do you have any idea what Bruce felt like? He really could have killed you.”

“I know that now. I have no idea how to make it up to any of them, and Fury won’t let me quit.”

“Never would have figured you for a coward,” says Natasha brutally. Jane winces. “What does Thor say about it?”

Jane stares at her hands and starts shredding the shreds of her croissant. She sighs, and feels her ears reddening with embarrassment.

“He wanted to beat me,” she says finally. Natasha sits up straighter.

“He was going to HIT you?” she says, her voice rising an octave in shock.

“Not with his fists,” says Jane defensively. She’s furious that the man she trusted with her life would want to cause her real pain, but she can’t let Natasha think _this_ of him. “With his belt.”

“Ohhhhh,” says Natasha as realization dawns. “I see. So, what’s the problem?”

Jane gapes at her in astonishment.

“I’m not going to just let him abuse me! A little kinky stuff in our sex life is fine. I…I kind of like that…but this isn’t the same thing. He meant to really hurt me, I could tell.”

“More than it would have hurt Bruce to have killed you?” asks Natasha cruelly. Jane flinches again. “More than the Chitauri hurt Steve?” Jane whimpers, and feels tears well up in her eyes. Natasha hands her a napkin.

“That’s not fair,” she whispers, blinking back the tears.

“Why is it not,” asks Natasha, and her voice is cool. “Why is a blistered ass too high a price to pay for endangering all of us? You did something stupid and selfish, and you got off Scott free as far as the team is concerned. If Thor spanks you, and they hear about it, I think you’ll find it makes a huge difference. Like I said earlier Jane. I never figured you for a coward.” She gets to her feet and leaves the room. Jane goes back to staring out the window, but she’s thinking about what Natasha said.

When she leaves, the goes back to the lab and sends emails to Tony, Steve (who she hopes can make it), Clint, Natasha and Bruce. She asks them all to be in the 17th floor media room in an hour. Then she goes back to Stark Tower and gets her suitcase, which, ok, she hasn’t unpacked. She takes a shower and tries to make her knees stop shaking. Tries not to think about the muscles in his arms and shoulders. Tries not to think about what she’s going to do if he won’t let her in. Or if Bruce never forgives her.

45 minutes later, she knocks on the door to Thor’s suite after making sure he’s there on the scanners. There’s a short pause, then he opens the door. He stares at her wordlessly.

“Can I come in?” she whispers. He nods, then turns his back and walks into the living room. She follows, setting her suitcase down beside the door. He leans up against the wall beside the television, crosses his arms over his chest, and looks at her. She sits down on the couch, wringing her hands a little and staring at the floor.

“Thor,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what, Jane,” he asks bleakly. She hears hoarse pain in his voice and cringes that she put it there.

“Sorry that I left. Sorry that I called you what I did, that I said those things. I was scared, and hurt. You always make me feel so safe. I guess I felt a little betrayed that you’d want to hurt me.”

“Want to hurt you?” he cries in horror. “Is that what you think? That because I enjoy making you scream for me when we couple, that because it makes my cock hard as iron to torment you in the bedchamber, that it makes me also such a monster that I would take pleasure from causing you _real_ pain? That I would use this horrible situation as a thinly veiled excuse to live out some sadistic fantasy?”

“No!” she says in consternation. “I didn’t mean it that way. I didn’t mean want to as in you’d enjoy it. I meant want to as in you’d…really do it.”

“Why are you here, Jane?” he asks dully.

“Because I want you to,” she says softly. He lifts his head and stares at her in confusion.

“You want me to what?”

“I…want you to…p…punish me,” she says in a tiny voice. She’s petrified. Her hands are shaking, so she clenches them together and stares fixedly at the carpet. His feet come into view, then he kneels in front of her. His strong fingers raise her chin, make her look at him. His blue eyes are soft.

“Are you sure, Jane?” he asks gently.

“I can’t stand the way everyone is acting. It’s horrible. Like the man you told me about, who lost all his friends. Will it…do you think it will help?”

“I do not know for certain, but I think so,” he says solemnly. “Jane, do you believe this is truly something I wish to do? Can you not believe that I am as horrified by the prospect as you? I mean to hurt you a great deal, my love, and it goes against every fiber of my being!”

She puts her hand on his cheek, and smiles tremulously at him.

“It will be all right,” she says softly. He stands up, heaving a huge sigh, and takes her hand. He helps her to her feet and leads her to the bedroom. She pulls free and he eyes her warily as if expecting her to rail at him again, or run away. While her throat is so dry she cannot swallow, she’s finished running away. She goes to the wall, to the intercom monitor, and programs in a connection. Thor looks bewildered, but she shakes her head and walks back to him. He takes her in his arms and kisses her gently. She trembles hard, and her uncertainty washes away when she feels the love in his kiss.

She steps back, unbuttons her pants and pulls them down to her knees, along with her underwear. She bends forward and places her hands on the bed, staring at the gold pattern in the deep blue comforter. She hears him unbuckle his belt and the slither of it being pulled free. His breath shudders in a deep sigh, and she feels his warm hand on the small of her back. It’s trembling. He clears his throat.

“Are you ready, Jane?” he asks huskily. She nods once, because it’s all she can do. She doesn’t think she could speak now if her life depended on it, doesn’t think she could use words to give him permission to do what he’s about to do. A nod is all she can manage.

When the first searing impact of leather on flesh comes, it takes her brain several seconds to process the event. Her body jerks and her knees start to buckle. Right about the time she manages to lock her knees, the sensation registers. She shrieks. She feels as though he has laid a red hot band of iron across both cheeks of her ass and that her skin has peeled back. The hand on the small of her back convulses a little, and this evidence of his turmoil somehow gives her courage. She breathes harshly through her nose, clenching her teeth, and resolves to bear the rest of it bravely, and not to scream anymore. This resolve lasts precisely as long as the next stroke. The pain is monstrous. He doesn’t spare her, but applies the heavy strap to her naked backside with resolve and with great force. Was it any other man, she would say he was beating her with all his strength, but of course she knows this is not the case. It does little to comfort her, as she howls in pain when the leather sears her bottom again. Her ass is on fire. She doesn’t believe it can possibly hurt any worse, until he lays down another stroke and it does. He paints her ass with blazing agony while she screams and sobs and shudders. When the belt strikes the top of her thighs she thinks they probably don’t need the intercom to hear her. There are probably dogs barking in Queens. It’s endless. She’s bawling like a little girl, and doesn’t care who hears her, because it hurts so FUCKING MUCH. When she’d decided to do this, she’d really had no idea how bad it was going to be. Her resolve shatters and she babbles incoherently between shrieks as the belt strikes her over and over.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! OWWW! Oh PLEASE no more, I can’t! OOOHHH! I’ll never NEVER do it again! OOWWW! Thor please! AHH! Nomorenomorenomore NO MORE PLEASE THOR PLEASE!!!”

He hurls the belt across the room. She dimly hears it hit the wall, then he’s sitting beside her and hauls her into his arms and onto his lap. She howls when her bottom makes contact with the rough denim of his jeans, but throws her arms around his neck anyway. She sobs brokenly into his neck, her tears and snot wetting his shirt. She doesn’t care. He obviously doesn’t either, as he holds her close and rocks her, and murmurs softly to her through her bawling.

“Jane. Jane, I forgive you. I am so sorry, my love. I know, it hurts. Please forgive me Jane, it is all right now, hush. Shh, my heart, you were so brave. Please don’t cry anymore.”

“I huh…huh…have to,” she wails. “It ruh…ruh…really hurrrttss…”

“I know, my brave girl, I know,” he whispers, his voice breaking. She pulls back a little and looks at him through her tears. He’s weeping silently, silvery tears rolling down his beautiful face. She reaches up and puts her hand against his cheek. She hiccups a little, and throttles down on her crying in her amazement at seeing him so undone.

“It’s all right,” she whispers in a watery voice. “I forgive you too.”

“Well I don’t,” says Tony’s voice crossly over the intercom. “Did you have to half-kill her like that? Jesus Thor, she’s just a little thing!” There is no resentment at all in his voice.

“Christ Jane,” says Clint’s voice in admiration. “I never knew you had such a set of lungs on you!”

“I forgive you Jane.” Steve’s voice is a little thready and weak, but he is clearly going to be fine.

And oh, best of all…

“Come down to the lab later,” she hears Bruce say, and there is warmth in his voice. “There’s some anti-inflammatory cream in the first aid kit.”

“See?” says Natasha smugly.

Jane presses her forehead against Thor’s and laughs. His shoulders are shaking with laughter too. The others laugh as well, and her heart soars when she realizes they’re okay now. The sound of their laughter cuts off as someone there turns off the intercom.

Thor kisses her gently and brushes her hair back where strands of it cling wetly to her cheeks.

“Jane,” he murmurs against her lips.

“Hmmm?” she sighs, kissing him back.

“Will you think me a horrible bastard if I tell you that your arse is burning through these breeches like a firebrand and I’ve a terrible cockstand, and that though I know it may make me a villain of the vilest order, I feel if I do not have you now, I shall die?”

His words fire straight to her belly like darts of molten heat, and she becomes abruptly aware that his erection presses urgently against her beaten and aching bottom, and that in reaction to it her pussy drools shamelessly.

“I think I’ll kill you if you don’t have me now,” she gasps out, and he stands up, still holding her. He yanks her pants the rest of the way off and lowers her to the bed gently. She whimpers when her ass comes in contact with the embroidery of the bedspread. A wicked grin flashes across his face as he unfastens his pants and kneels between her legs. He holds himself up on one arm while his other hand pushes his pants down and guides his enormous cock towards her entrance. His eyes seek hers anxiously.

“Jane,” he grinds out painfully. “I don’t wish to cause you further pain….but Jane…I do not think I can….I am not sure I can…be gentle…” He’s breathing hard, and she can see the fine trembling in his muscles with the effort of holding himself back.

“Then don’t,” she says softly, and reaches for him.

With an almost animal groan, he buries himself inside her to the balls with one brutal thrust. She cries out in pain and delight as her blistered bottom scrapes hard against the rough fabric and her pussy clenches tightly around him at the same time. He fucks into her mindlessly, his blue eyes blind with the primal need to possess her, to claim that which he has conquered. Dimly, on some level, she is aware that she should be outraged at this rather primitive reaction he’s having to beating his woman, but her traitorous body is too roused to him to care one whit. It hurts, both inside her where he batters at the entrance to her womb as though he will climb inside her, and where her bottom is ground brutally into the bed and the tiny gold threads scrape at her swollen flesh like sandpaper, but she’s already coming, and her fingernails score deep lines into the hard muscle of his back, which makes him snarl at her in rage and pleasure. Fuck, he’s just so hot when he’s a beast this way. She claws him harder, and he leans down and sinks his teeth into her throat, the growl in his chest almost rattling her teeth. God, she wonders if they’re going to survive what they do to each other, but she just doesn’t care. Then she’s coming AGAIN, and she’s sobbing his name and begging, and she doesn’t even know what she’s begging for. She has no idea if she wants him to stop or to never. Then knows, when he throws his head back and roars his release while he shakes in her arms, that it’s never.

“Never stop,” she whispers, though she doesn’t think he hears her as he’s blinded and deafened by his pleasure.

She realizes she was wrong, later, when he holds her close to him, rolls so she is lying on top of him, which is an enormous relief to her abused backside. His big hand slides down and gently pats her ass, which makes her whimper and him chuckle.

“Not until the sun falls into the sea,” he says comfortably.


End file.
